The Story of a Dying Girl
by TeenAgeRiot99
Summary: Idea from Me and Earl and The Dying Girl. Naomi leads a simple life as a senior in high school. Spend time with her best mate, Cook and get along with everyone. Enter Emily Fitch another senior, who gets cancer. A connection is formed, but it's hard dealing with watching the person you love fight cancer. I'm sorry because this is probably a really shitty and awful story.
1. Chapter 1

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **This is probably not very good and I suck with technology and wrote a bunch of chapters on word, so I'm trying to figure out how to upload them. I think I figured it out, but I am probably gonna end up doing it in a way over complicated way. This is one of the first stories I have ever written so, it's gonna suck. Also, if the characters don't seem so much like themselves, I'm sorry. And, another fuck up I made: It takes place in America, but they all use British slang so...**

 **There are probably a shit ton of typos. I really suck at this.**

 **I'm just gonna apologize in advance. Enjoy! Or don't.**

 **Chapter 1:**

It was the month of October of my senior year of high school when I was told, or really informed that I should spend time with Emily Fitch.

I, of course, did not know why. I had nothing against Emily Fitch, but we were merely acquaintances, just like everyone else I knew.

I didn't really have too many friends, but I was on pretty good terms with everyone. I figured that no one could really know me well enough to hurt me, and no one could hate me if we were all on moderate terms.

The only person to really break this mold was a loud boy named Cook, who was known as a bit of a slag. I don't know why he was my best, and only, friend, but he was, and I didn't question it, because it was easier not to.

But back to Emily Fitch and the month of October.

Emily Fitch was, for those of you who don't know, a pretty girl with long red hair, who was smart. There's probably more to say than that, but that's typically how people are classified, so that's how I will classify her.

October, for those of you who don't know, is the tenth month in the year.

It was also the month in which I sat at my computer in my room, at my desk, trying to write an essay for a class that I did not really care about.

And while I tried to add more to reach the five page limit, my mum knocked softly and opened the door slowly with an unsettling squeak.

"Honey," and with this she sat on my bed and motioned for me to join her, "I have some bad news."

No one likes to hear that there's bad news, unless you're some sort of sadist. I guess in that case, bad news suits you just fine.

I moved to sit next to her on my old twin bed.

She motioned for me to take her hand, so I did, but not without first giving her an odd look.

"Emily Fitch, you know Emily Fitch right?"

"Uh, we're acquainted."

"She's been diagnosed with cancer."

And she closed her eyes and I saw a few tears fall.

I, on the other hand, did not really know how to feel. Sad, obviously, but I didn't really know her, and I wasn't about to pretend like she was my best friend and scream out asking, "Why her?! Why her?! Oh god, why?!"

I didn't see the point in only really caring about this girl after learning that she might die.

It didn't really seem fair to her.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."

I don't know why she was apologizing to me. I didn't have cancer. I wasn't her mother, or her father, or her twin or even her friend, but I accepted her apology all the same and told her that I was too, because in that moment there really wasn't that much else to say.

"Her family must be devastated!" My mum continued to cry, but still, I didn't really know why. My mum had never met Emily Fitch.

And we stayed like that for a few moments, with my mum crying into my shoulder and I just took it, sitting on my bed and staring at the ceiling high above.

"Maybe you should go over and cheer her up some time."

Like I was saying before, it didn't really seem fair, only now to really care about Emily Fitch.

But I couldn't exactly tell my mother that no, the girl who had just been diagnosed with cancer will not be receiving any cheering up from me and that I would not go see her.

"Yeah maybe."

And that was the day in October in which I learned that Emily Fitch was dying and that I should do something about it.

* * *

The next day at school wasn't really a whole lot better. It seemed like that was all anyone was talking about.

Everyone suddenly started caring. Everyone flocked around Emily, some crying, some not, and gave her condolences. And it really wasn't fair, to see these people start caring when most of them probably couldn't give a shit about Emily Fitch before.

Her twin sister, Katie, spent the whole day crying. It was a bit distracting in math when I was trying to learn formulas and all I could hear was sniffling and sobs, but I wasn't about to tell her to stop crying about her sister with cancer.

It didn't really seem appropriate.

Even Cook seemed somber. And part of it annoyed me. She wasn't dead. Why was there already a funeral? She was alive, and for the most part well, but we might as well have been dressed in black, burying her body.

And this went on for a little bit. Everyone started caring, and mum told me to go cheer her up, but I didn't because I didn't really think that she would want another phony griever.

It was the second Wednesday of October when my mum stopped suggesting and grabbed my phone from my hand, telling me to go to her house now.

I tried to argue.

"Mum, I don't really know her though."

I tried to reason.

"Her family probably doesn't want any visitors."

I tried to protest.

"I'm not going."

Mum didn't budge.

So there I found myself walking the few blocks to her house.

Leaves fell from trees and squirrels still jumped and did whatever else squirrels typically found themselves doing. I wondered if nature had gotten the memo, that they had to start acting sad now, and stop their usual routine.

Emily Fitch, the pretty girl with red hair, had cancer. The sun shouldn't shine. The stars should disappear. The trees should fall and leave ugly stumps in their place. The squirrels should weep.

But they didn't stop, because they did not care about Emily Fitch.

And I guess that maybe the world did not care about Emily Fitch, and maybe the world doesn't really care about any of us.

If I keeled over and died, the country of China would not find themselves weeping and Russia would not hold a minute of silence in my honor. Africa would not hold a ceremony for me and Australia would not give me a parade, because to the world I am one person out of over seven billion.

The leaves crunched under my feet and I found myself knocking at a bright red door, which seemed a little unusual, but I wasn't really sure what color a door had to be in order to be acceptable, so I just knocked and waited.

Mrs. Fitch was crying when she opened the door, and she pulled me in for a tight hug that felt out of place because I had never met Jenna Fitch. But I guess her daughter having cancer was out of place, as was their red door, so I accepted her hug.

She squeezed too hard, like she wanted the air to go out of my lungs, and it that was true, than she was succeeding.

"Emily will be so happy to have you. You are a good kid."

I wanted to ask her how she knew I was a good kid when she had never met me. I could have escaped from prison and been there to kill her daughter by smothering her with a pillow.

But this didn't seem appropriate to ask so I let her hug me and tell me things like that. I was so kind. Emily was lucky she had friends like me. I was a great kid.

And when she had deemed me hugged enough and told me that Emily would be in her room, she sat down on her very nice looking couch, and her husband, a tall, strong looking man, hugged her tightly and she cried into his shoulder, like my mum had cried into mine. Only, Jenna Fitch had a much better reason to cry than my mum did.

I went up the stairs. There were 17. And with each one I grew more anxious and more nervous to see her, as I knew she probably wouldn't know why I was there, just like I didn't really know why I was there either.

And when then 17 stairs were behind me and now there was a long narrow hall way I walked to the door that had a piece of notebook paper taped with "Emily" written in neat handwriting.

I knocked once and then twice.

"Come in mum."

I wasn't her mum, but I decided to come in anyway.

"Listen mum, I'm okay, really, I'm- You're not my mum."

And there stood, or I guess sat Emily Fitch, in all her glory. The first thing I noticed in her room was that there were a lot of flowers, covering her desk and the floor and her dresser and everywhere that flowers could be put.

The second thing I noticed was that there were also an alarming amount of cards. Cheesy cards in bright colors that were meant to cheer up this girl who was sick.

I guess nothing screams I care about you like a cheesy Hallmark card joke. Or a heartfelt prewritten paragraph that could also be given to someone with the flu.

"Yeah, I'm not your mum," I said because I didn't really know what else to say.

She sighed.

"Hi Naomi. Are you here to tell me that you feel bad for me and that you're sorry? Just like everyone fucking else."

"No. I'm here because my mum told me that I had to."

I realized maybe three seconds later how that was so much worse than being like everyone else.

"Great."

She didn't mean it.

"There sure are a lot of flowers here. What did you rob a flower store?" I laughed, and then I realized that this was a wildly inappropriate thing to say to this girl.

And she looked at me like she couldn't believe that I had said such a thing, and then slowly, but surely, a big toothy smile broke out and she laughed. I liked her smile.

"No, everyone has suddenly begun to care. Flowers seem to convey that."

"Oh shit, I should have gotten you something."

I was now in alarm, because I had nothing to show I was sorry. Because I was, and saying, "Sorry 'bout the cancer. That blows," didn't really seem to cut it.

"Naomi, it's alright."

"No, wait, close your eyes."

"Uh, okay…"

And she did. I quickly grabbed purple tulips from the floor.

"Open them."

And she did.

"Here you go."

She reached out and grabbed the vase in which "my" flowers sat in.

"Thanks, but these say, 'From Aunt Wendy,'" she laughed and pointed at the tag.

"What? Wendy's always trying to steal my fucking flowers."

And Emily Fitch laughed again.

And it was a beautiful sound.

"You can go Naomi. Really, it's okay. I don't need another person pretending to be sorry."

"But I am sorry. And I can't go. My mum will kill me if I go."

And she sighed.

"Okay then. I guess you can stay."

"Thanks."

I looked around and decided that the chair in the corner was a safe place.

Emily Fitch did not look like a sick girl. She did not have tubes strapped to her arms and her fingers were not white and frail and she wasn't in a cold sweat.

She did, however look sad, and maybe a bit broken, like sick people usually do, or maybe most people usually do.

She looked at me for a bit and then she laid back on the bed.

I did not say anything to her. And she did not say anything to me. And maybe we were supposed to, and maybe we weren't.

I didn't know because I had never really been around someone with cancer, other than the lady who worked at the cash register at the local grocery store when I was little.

She had long brown hair and a permanent smile. And as time went on she came in less and less and then she stopped coming in all together.

She never came back.

"You have a lot of posters," I said after a little bit longer of uncomfortable silence.

She sat up and looked around, like she had just noticed that her wall was covered in all these posters for movies I had never heard of.

"Oh, yeah, I like a lot of old films, but most of them are unheard of and hard to find, so, you know."

"Yeah," I said, but I didn't really know.

It was just easier to agree.

"Is this the part where I say that I'm sorry you have cancer?"

She smiled, maybe it was a bit sad and maybe it wasn't. I couldn't really tell.

"I guess so."

"Sorry that you have cancer."

"Yeah, me too."

And then we went back to the deafening quiet that had consumed the room and had engulfed us.

"Everyone is treating me differently, like I'm gonna die, and like I mean something now, because I'm supposed to be dying," she laughed but it was more disbelieving than humorous.

"Even you, I mean, would you have ever come to see me if I didn't have cancer?"

No.

"I suppose not," which was really just a nice way of saying no, I would not have even considered hanging out with you if you had not been diagnosed with a disease and my mum had not made me.

"See?"

And I did see.

I didn't really know why Emily had told me something that seemed kind of personal.

So instead I shrugged.

"Yeah, that's probably kinda annoying."

And once again there was silence.

I felt like I had to break it, after all my one job had been to cheer up this girl who was sick.

"What's this movie about?" I asked pointing to a black and white poster where a man looked at the woman like she was the only one there.

"That one's about a man and woman deeply in love."

"Aren't they all?"

Because that's all movies are really about anymore.

"I guess so, but this one's really good. It's not really cheesy and it means something more than just kisses in the rain and red fucking roses. It's my favorite movie, but I've only seen it once, I can't find it anywhere, not even online."

"That's cool, though."

"Yeah, it is."

And once again there was silence and my immediate thought was that for someone who was supposed to be cheering someone up, I was really shit.

"It's so different now. Everyone's being so annoying."

"Like the girl who says everything happens for a reason?" I asked.

"Yes!"

"And the guy who tells you to stay strong?"

"Him too!"

"And the teachers who tell you stories about how they knew someone who believed and is now healthy and that you can be just like them?"

"Especially them!"

"Just tell them to fuck off," I said like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"It's not exactly that easy Naomi."

"Then just play dead."

"What?"

"Here, act like an annoying person."

And so she did.

"Hey, Emily, I believe in you," she said in a higher pitched voice and she fanned her hands at her eyes as if to dry her tears.

I simply slid out of the chair and landed on the floor, not moving, arms to the side, eyes unblinking, mouth slightly open.

And she laughed again, the melodious sound filling the room.

After a bit she quieted down.

"You want to know the funny thing?"

"Sure." Because I did want to know the funny thing.

"I don't feel like I'm dying," she said quietly and the moment was suddenly serious.

"Maybe, you're not."

"I'm supposed to be. That's what the doctors say."

"Well fuck the doctors."

And she laughed again, but I'm not really sure if she meant it.

A little while later I left.

And that was the second Wednesday in October in which I better acquainted myself with one Emily Fitch.

* * *

News of her cancer spread like wildfire.

And the kids at school still seemed overly sad and I noticed that Emily always seemed a bit annoyed, especially when people like Amanda Horite came up to her with tears streaming down her face and told her that it should have been her instead of Emily. Funny thing is, Amanda had spoken to Emily maybe three times before, and their conversations probably consisted of, "Hey can I borrow a pencil?" and "Sure."

I didn't visit Emily again until Monday, when Cook sat next to me on the bus and asked me if I was coming over after school like I almost always did.

I would have said yes, but then we passed the Fitch residence, and I watched as the door opened and Jenna Fitch tightly hugged Emily and she had tears streaming down her face.

"No, sorry man, I think I have plans."

"Okay, that's cool."

I didn't really want to visit Emily, but I felt like she had shared too many personal things for it to just be a one-time thing.

So classes passed as usual. Teachers taught things that weren't really that important and kids were teased and assignments were given.

And it kinda felt like maybe the school hadn't gotten the memo either. Why is everything like usual? Shouldn't things be different?

I sat on the bus quietly, watching the outside world speed past and the kids screamed and laughed and threw things and the bus driver yelled and told them to knock it off, he threatened to, and I quote, "Turn this fuc-freaking bus around!"

The kids didn't stop and the bus driver did not turn the bus around.

I got off at the stop by my house and walked the blocks to Emily's house, where her family was probably crying and engaged in a tight group hug or something.

They weren't.

Instead of that, Jenna gave me a tight hug and then left to hug her husband, and they were still crying and I wondered if it was possible to cry yourself out.

Emily was still in her room and this time she was in the same chair I had sat in and she was reading something, but she seemed bored.

There were still flowers, but most were dying, just like she was supposed to be, and the cards were not neatly stacked on her wooden dresser.

"Hi."

She looked up, almost surprised.

I wasn't sure if she was excited to see me and if she didn't care at all, but I think that that's how it was supposed to be.

"Hi Naomi. What are you doing here?"

I could tell her that she had told me a lot and I felt I had to return. I could tell her that she seemed like she needed a friend, even though she had plenty.

I instead decided to tease her.

"I thought you'd miss me significantly and crave my presence desperately."

It worked. She laughed and seemed to accept that.

"Alright, please, grace me with your presence."

And she eagerly put down the book by tossing it on to her bed, already forgotten.

"You're putting way too much presence on me."

"Oh, am I?"

And in a way there was truth to that. There was pressure. I was supposed to be something happy, something to distract her I guess.

And soon the silence settled over us again, the same uncomfortable, unbearable one.

I stood awkwardly, kinda just looking around at all those posters than were taped heavily to the otherwise perfectly white wall.

"Can I guess what the movies are about?" I asked after a little bit longer of the silence.

She looked a bit caught off guard, but nodded all the same.

I walked over to a brightly colored poster where a man looked straight ahead, looking right at whoever looked at the poster.

"Okay, well this one is obviously about a guy who has a bad case of constipation, and you can even see the pain in his eyes. The whole movie is about him trying to take a shit, and in the end, he just sits on the toilet and cries."

She laughed and I really thought that I could get used to hearing such a beautiful sound.

"And that one?" She pointed at a bright green poster, where a cartoon dog looked to the side.

"Well the dog's obviously a robot sent from aliens in space to try to kill everyone. He just barks and wags his tail, but he's actually a classified, stone cold killer."

"How does it end?" She laughs.

"He learns to love."

She smiled.

"What about that one?"

This time there was a woman who held an umbrella over her head.

"This one is about a woman named Stupid Sally. The movie's like 30 seconds. Basically, there's a piano falling, and Stupid Sally is using an umbrella to try and protect herself instead of movie. In the end she gets crushed, but she's alright."

And we did this again and again until there were no more posters, and she was laughing so hard tears streamed from her eyes.

And I thought to myself that maybe I wasn't so bad at cheering her up.

"Everyone is so focused on the fact that I'm sick, and that's all they remind me of," she said quietly and once again the moment became serious and the laughing was gone.

I still wasn't really sure why she shared so much about herself, but I concluded that Emily Fitch must be a pretty open person.

And I didn't really know what to say. What do you say?

Maybe I was supposed to tell her that she would be fine and maybe I wasn't.

So I didn't. Instead I stood there like a twat and I listened, because that's what I've always been best at.

And I left a bit later, when it felt appropriate to.

As I walked home I wondered if she really was sick. A sick person should look sick, I guess.

Maybe they should be too skinny and have hands too cold. Maybe they should have hair falling out and be coughing up blood.

But she wasn't any of those things and none of those things were happening to her. So how could she really been sick when this Emily Fitch looks exactly like the Emily Fitch from five months ago that sat ahead of me in science and would ask if I had a pen to borrow? I usually didn't.

But this Emily doesn't really seem too different. She looks a bit sadder maybe, but maybe most people look kind of sad.

She was well enough to laugh and smile and ask important questions and do well in school and maintain lots of friends, so how could she be sick?

It really wasn't fair I guess, but it never really is fair, whether it's Emily Fitch, or an old man in Australia, it's never fair how these things work out.

But if she doesn't seem sick, then maybe she's not dying. And if she's not going to die than her parents should stop crying and Amanda Horite should stop pretending to care and mum should stop telling me she's sorry when it was never her fault to begin with.

People should stop giving Emily flowers and cards because she will be fine.

And that is what I choose to believe because I know it in my heart to be true.

I didn't visit Emily the next day or the day after that.

I went to Cook's house like I did before everyone started to care about Emily.

We sat on the couch and we watched shitty movies on a shitty small TV. His younger brother, Paddy would sit between us and his mum would be passed out somewhere. And when Paddy got bored he would leave and Cook and I would talk about fuck all because that's just what we did.

I didn't really think too much about Emily Fitch until Cook mentioned her on Thursday.

"Do you think that she'll be okay?" He asked in a blunt, yet somehow caring way that Cook can ask things in.

And I knew immediately whom he was talking about.

"Yes, I think she will be fine."

I said this with no hesitation because it was what I believed.

And he seemed to accept that and he turned back to the TV and I watched as fake blood squirted from a bad guy as the main character shot him.

I wondered if Emily would like a movie like this and I quickly came up with my answer.

No, she would not.

And it was a fair judgment from what I had learned to be true about her.

She would not like a movie that probably had a budget of less than $5,000.

And I couldn't really blame her.

I didn't really know if I was supposed to visit her again. My mum wasn't making me. She wasn't really a friend of mine. She probably had a lot more people who would be fine taking over my position.

But I liked spending time with her I guess, even if I had only spent a little bit with her, and we spent most of that in an uncomfortable silence.

I decided that maybe I would go see her soon.

If that's what she wanted.

So I didn't visit her on or Saturday, and not on Sunday when I sat at my desk trying to answer last minute questions about history that I didn't really care about.

But I never really cared about them.

Monday was the day I decided, and part of me thought that it was a little unfair of me to just decide when I would come over, that I wouldn't let her know or ask if she wanted me too.

Part of me thought that was really selfish, to impose myself on a girl with cancer.

The other part of me didn't really care because I wanted to see her, to hell with being a selfish fuck.

I went with the other part of me.

So on Monday I found myself at the bright red door again and Mrs. Fitch opened the door, but she wasn't crying this time, and I realized that maybe that meant that Emily would be fine.

Or maybe she had accepted something no one should have to accept.

I knew it was the first thing though, because Emily would be fine because I knew it.

She gave me another long hug and neighbors who saw us might think that she had known me since I was born, when in fact I had seen her two times now.

Emily was in her room again and this time she didn't sit in the chair and she didn't sit on her bed.

She was on the floor, but she wasn't reading. Instead, she was on her computer.

"Hey."

She looked up at me and smiled, and once again I didn't know if it was completely happy.

"How's it going?" I asked because I thought it was a pretty normal and easy thing to ask.

"Honestly?"

"You can lie if you want to," I said taking off my green army jacket that I always seemed to wear.

"Oh, in that case I'm great," she said with a big fake smile that you show your grandmother at Thanksgiving when you eat her food and it's awful, but you can't tell her that it tastes of cat piss, so instead you give her that smile and lie.

"That's cool, I think."

Because I wasn't really sure what to say, but I guess I wasn't ever really sure what to say.

"What are you doing?" I asked sitting down next to her.

"Trying to find a movie that I love."

"Which one?"

"The one with Stupid Sally," she said, smiling. She looked down at my lips for a brief second, but when I blinked she was back to looking me in the eyes.

"Any luck?"

"None."

"Where did you even see these things in the first place?"

"There was this great old movie theater about 20 minutes from here and they would play all these old movies and I would go see them all the time. They closed down a few years ago, and I can't find any of the movies. I got a bunch of their posters when they closed, but no movies."

"That sucks," I said simply because there was no other way to put it.

"Yeah."

And the silence was beginning to become a constant theme.

"You really need to develop a better schedule," she said after a while.

"What?" I wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about.

"This is the third time that you have come to visit me. You just come randomly. You need a schedule."

"Okay…"

"Unless you don't want to see me anymore. Because, that's okay, you don't have to. Don't do this because you feel bad for me."

"I do want to visit you."

Because I did.

"Alright, so what if you come on Wednesdays."

"Okay."

"Alright."

And we were quiet once again.

I didn't really know why this whole thing was a big deal. She hadn't even started chemotherapy. It didn't seem real, so I chose to ignore the fact that she was sick all together.

I didn't know why Cook asked me if she would be okay when it had been less than a month since she was diagnosed. I didn't know why everyone in the school suddenly seemed to be ready for a funeral when she was fine.

"Why do you like that movie so much? The love story one," I asked because I couldn't take the silence anymore.

"I don't know. I just like how I feel when I watch it."

I would have asked her how it made her feel, but that felt too personal, even though I had concluded that Emily Fitch was a very open person.

So I just put my jacket on the floor and she grabbed her computer.

"Here let me try."

"Okay…"

She gave me a strange look.

I grabbed the laptop and googled, Stupid Sally.

Nothing came up except some odd shit that wasn't of any importance.

She laughed though, so it worked.

"Damn it. I really thought I had it."

"So close."

And that's how we continued. Silence would settle and then I would ask her something, sometimes it was stupid and sometimes it wasn't.

And then I walked home.

The wind still blew and I hugged my army jacket tighter.

The squirrels still jumped and did whatever the fuck squirrels did and the leaves still coated the ground and everything was still the same.

Emily was still the same and I was still the same and the squirrels were still the same and so were the trees and all their hundreds of leaves that abandoned them.

Nothing had fucking changed. Was it supposed to?

When I was little and the lady who worked the cash register got cancer, nothing really changed. The apples weren't bitter now, the chips weren't more expensive, and they didn't stop selling ice cream in large tubs.

Nothing changed. Shouldn't it have changed?

I didn't know, but I felt like it should have meant something more to the world than it did.

That night when I pulled back my comforter and climbed in I thought of Emily.

I seemed to be doing that a lot lately.


	2. Chapter 2

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed. It really means a lot to me. Reading your reviews brightens my day more than you can possibly imagine. I don't really know how often to update this story. I'm almost done with Chapter 8. School is soon starting, but I will still work hard and update a lot, because I add to the story almost every night. I know I doubt myself a lot, but I feel like it's a safety blanket in case I fail. I will try to stop doing that, though. I hope that you guys like this, chapter 3 will probably be posted in a couple days.**

 **Chapter 2:**

I woke up on Tuesday to a bright sky and chirping birds.

I pulled myself out of bed and got ready for the bed, quickly rushing downstairs to catch the bus.

The cracked seats were crowded and I made my way to the back where Cook sat waiting.

"Naomio!" He bellowed and I rolled my eyes.

I sat down to him none-the-less.

My first class of the day was English, where Mr. Dirken pointed to the white board and told us about why grammar and vocabulary was important, and what not.

His hairline was receding, as was my attention.

He scratched at his goatee and regarded us with cold stares.

"You need to know this, or else you will never succeed in life," he said squinting and continued to go on and on about stuff I really couldn't give a shit about.

I seriously doubted the key to success in life was perfect grammar and writing techniques.

But who knows?

Maybe that's all it's really about.

Knowing the difference between its and it's.

I tried hard to pay attention, but I felt myself starting to fall asleep.

The bell rung and I nearly fell out of my seat.

Jesus.

I put everything into my messenger bag and started to walk away quickly, before Mr. Dirken could tell me that if I continued to doze off in his class my life would be shit.

Science wasn't a whole lot better.

Mrs. Incart started to doze off while teaching, I'm sure of it.

She talked in a boring voice and her eyelids fell a little bit down and her voice became a bit more slurred.

But she may have been drunk. Or on pills. Or on both. Or maybe that's how she always talked.

But if that was true than she did not get the memo either, because things aren't supposed to be the same now that Emily Fitch has cancer.

Everything should be different, but it isn't.

At lunch I went to the library like I always do, where Cook and I sit and eat to avoid the chaos that is the cafeteria.

You know how I said that I was on moderately good terms with everyone?

Yeah, well I meant it.

Sometimes I smoked a spliff with the stoners and I found the jocks patting me on the back and high fiving me and I told the theater art kids witty jokes when I saw them and they would laugh and I'd help the nerds out from the lockers some of them were smashed in and I'd listen to the goth kids tell me about death and oblivion in all it's terror.

No one hated me, but no one really was my friend. We were friendly, not friends. I was liked but not loved and that was fine with me.

And the cafeteria was the place where you had to choose one place to sit and it would be with one clique and not all of them.

If you sat with the stoners, the goths, the nerds, the theater art kids, the jocks, any of them, you were stuck.

And I didn't really know any of them well enough to eat lunch with them.

So instead, Cook and I went to the library and sat in the comfortable chairs and did whatever we usually did, which really wasn't much to be honest.

And today was no different than any other day because why would it be?

We were quietly watching a stupid video on my phone, laughing at everything we were supposed to be laughing at.

"Hey, where do you go Naomikins?" Cook asked suddenly and I wondered why everyone was into asking me vague questions that I was supposed to automatically understand even though I'm not fucking psychic.

"What do you mean?"

"On the days you don't go to my house, where do you go?"

Why don't people ask me questions like that? It would make life a lot easier. What's with the cryptic bullshit?

And I realized that he was talking about the three days that I visited Emily Fitch rather than watch movies at his.

I could have told him that I was helping my mum with some hippie thing, or that I was volunteering, or something like that, but I hadn't really lied to Cook before and I didn't really want to start now.

"Oh, I visit Emily Fitch."

I said it like it was the easiest thing ever. As simple as, "Hey, your shoes untied."

But it wasn't that simple, because Cook knew that I had never been friends with Emily, and the fact that I was now going over to her house was not simple.

It was confusing and kinda odd, because of all the people that should be visiting her and all the reasons why they would be visiting her, I was probably the last person, and I probably had the worst reason:

My mum made me one day and I decided to go back.

"You're visiting Emily, you don't even really know her, do you?"

"Define know."

"What's her middle name? Her favorite color? Her birthday?"

"… Okay, so maybe I don't really know her. My mum made me go, and then… I don't know, I guess I kind of liked it."

"Oh I see," he said and he gave me a wolfish grin.

Maybe he saw, but I didn't.

"What?"

"You sly dog."

"What?"

"Jesus Naomio."

"For fuck's sake what?!"

I was getting tired of trying to guess. The librarian gave me a dirty look and shushed me loudly.

"Quiet!" She said louder than I had been.

"Sorry."

"What?" I asked quieter.

"You're shagging Emily Fitch."

Oh god Cook. You see, sometimes Cook really understands things and gets it. And sometimes he doesn't at all.

This was one of the times he didn't get it at all.

How the fuck would that even work?

Hey Emily, heard 'bout the cancer. Would you feel better if I went down on you? Yeah? Okay.

"For fuck's sake Cook. You think I'm having sex with Emily? I barely know her."

"So? I barely know any of the people I shag."

"I'm not shagging Emily Fitch."

"So what do you do then?"

And that wasn't an easy question to answer because I didn't even really know the answer.

We talked, we laughed, we spent most of the time in an eerie silence. That didn't really seem like a very good answer, but it was the only one I had.

"I don't know, we talk sometimes," I said finally.

"And shag the rest of the time?" Cook asked, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"No!"

I was shushed again.

"No. We spend the rest of the time doing nothing."

"Sounds fun."

He didn't mean it.

"It is."

"When's the next time you're going?"

"Tomorrow."

"Let's go today."

"What?"

"You, me, Emily Fitch's house today."

I would have said no. No, this is between Emily and me. No, we aren't supposed to go today.

No.

But the bell rung instead, so I didn't get to say no.

And I didn't get to say no when we were in history and he sat next to me. And I didn't get to say no when we waited for the bus. And I didn't get to say no when we were on the bus. And I didn't get to say no when we were walking to her house. And now here we were, in front of a bright red door and he knocked before I could pull my head out of my ass and say no.

Jenna Fitch opened the door and once again she gave me a hug too tight and then she grabbed Cook and gave him one too.

He smiled a mischievous smile and gave me a look that said, "I'm going to fuck this woman some day."

That look lasted maybe five seconds.

Because unfortunately for Cook, Jenna Fitch had a husband who could probably kill Cook with one punch.

So, when Cook looked around and saw Rob Fitch sitting on the couch, giving Cook a death glare that would have probably melted him into a pile of Cook-goo if it were possible, Cook gave me a new look.

This look said, "I will not fuck this woman someday, or any day ever for that matter."

And that was a lot more believable in my opinion.

So we walked upstairs with Mr. Fitch still giving us looks that he always gave me when I came over. Looks that clearly said, "If I find you in bed with my daughter, they will be finding chunks of your body in rivers."

So we walked up the 17 stairs and I knocked on the door.

"Come in."

I opened the door slowly and Emily lifted her head from her pillow.

"Naomi? What are you doing here? It's Tuesday. And who's this?"

And all of those were very good questions. Great questions, really. I didn't really have too many answers, though.

"Um, well this is Cook. Say hi Cook."

"I'm not a fucking dog. 'Say hi Cook. Bark Cook. Roll over! Play dead!''

Emily laughed.

"And we are here because… I don't really know. We wanted to see you I guess."

And that was the truth.

"You're really shit with schedules you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

And then there was silence.

"Naomikins you're gonna buy us ice cream, because it's too quiet and because I like ice cream."

And so we walked to the nearest convenient store.

It was about four blocks down from her house.

The bell chimed when we opened the door, and the man at the counter looked at us with an already bored expression.

We walked to the freezer that sat forgotten in the back.

"I want this one," Cook said grabbing a fudgesicle.

Emily grabbed an ice cream sandwich and I grabbed one too.

The man at the counter rung us up without even glancing our way, and simply put his hand out when he was ready for $7.23.

I dug around in the pockets of my army jacket and found a quarter and three crumpled dollars. The back pocket of my jeans had four quarters and one neatly folded dollar bill. I dug around a bit more and found three more quarters in my front right pocket. My left front pocket had one dollar crumpled into a tiny ball and I found one dime, two nickels, and three pennies.

I handed the pile of money over to the cashier who looked at me with an incredulous expression.

"Gee, thanks kid."

He didn't mean it.

Emily was laughing quietly in the background as I grabbed our stuff and we quickly exited before the man could give me another dirty look.

"Wow Naomi, you really are made of money," Emily laughed opening her ice cream sandwich as we walked to the park about a block away.

"Shut it Fitch, or else I'm eating your sandwich."

We sat down on a bench that was much too small for all three of us.

I was hanging on the edge when I finally gave up and sat down on the ground.

"So, you're Naomi's friend?" Emily looked at Cook as he opened his popsicle and took a big bite without flinching.

"Yep."

"That's cool."

"It's alright. She's a fucking handful sometimes to be honest."

This grabbed my attention.

"Shut the fuck up, tosser."

"Oi, you love it Naomio!"

"Naomio?"

"Yeah, that's what I call her. That and Naomikins. Oh, and Blondie."

Oh god.

Emily laughs again and I tilt my head back to look at her.

She smiles and I can't help but notice how pretty smiling looks on her.

And how good her laughing sounds.

And how nice her voice sounds is when she speaks. It's husky and warm and just nice to hear.

And while I'm making all these observations, I feel something being grabbed from my hand and I look up to see that my ice cream has been stolen and Emily is now eating it.

"Hey!"

"Sorry," she says with a smile that tells me that she is not sorry at all.

And when the ice cream was eaten and the sky started to get darker, we walked Emily home.

And when we reached the bright red door that stopped seeming out of place, she looked at me with a smile and reached up on her tip toes. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and I felt the skin there burn. I could feel my face and the tips of my ears turn red.

"You should visit me more often."

And with that she went into the house with the red door and where the parents inside used to cry every day.

Cook and I walked around, him nudging me every few seconds and waggling his eyebrows in a way that is both endearing and perverted.

And when I got home I wondered why Emily wanted me to come over more.

I thought that I might have been bothering her. I typically think of myself as someone who bothers others.

My mum was sat at the dinner table with overcooked pasta and tea.

"Naomi, my beautiful girl, come sit down!"

I wondered why my mother called me beautiful. I didn't consider myself to be a very good-looking kid. And this is not me fishing for compliments so people will disagree and tell me that I am beautiful. It was just how I thought of myself.

I was pretty lanky, and never really wore nice clothes, often sticking to a t-shirt with some odd design or for a band and a pair of jeans. And I almost always wore my green army jacket. I didn't exactly have a particularly interesting combination of features. Blonde hair, blue eyes, regular looking nose.

But I think that it is just something that mothers do, whether it's true or not, because maybe deep down that is what they believe.

Even if they are the only one on the whole planet who believes that.

And so we ate dinner quietly.

And as I went to sleep, I wondered why people were so complicated. Why do people ask vague questions when they want specific answers? Why do mothers tell their kids that they are good-looking, when they are not? Why does a girl like Emily Fitch kiss a girl like me on the cheek? What does she mean when she says I should visit her more often? How much was more often? Everyday? Three times a week?

And why does a girl who likes old movies and laughs at my jokes and puts up with Cook and eats ice cream sandwiches get cancer? Why does anyone get cancer?

I'm not sure if you know this, but when there is a lot on your mind and you're trying to sleep, it's fucking impossible.

All I can think about is why anything happens and why anyone does anything.

I am asking questions to which I have no answers and it's currently 3:07 in the morning and I am trying to answer impossible questions.

And my mind is filled with red.

Red skies and red houses with red lawns and red neighbors with red dogs that have red toys and red trees that carry red leaves that fall onto the red ground.

Red t-shirt.

Red lips.

Red hair.

Everything is red.

I woke up and the first thing I found myself thinking is, "Christ, this room could use more red."

The second thing I thought was, "Why the hell did I think that?"

And the day passes as it always does.

Emily tries to avoid fake grievers and flashes a few smiles my way when she sees me around, and I feel good every time she does.

In politics today, I thought I might punch Patricia Farvier. She kept on sniffling, and making noises that were the equivalent to angry preteen huffing that begged for attention.

And finally, when the teacher, Mrs. Hesier, asked what was wrong in that concerned, but kind of bored way that only Mrs. Hesier can, Patricia continued to sniffle.

"I'm just really sad for Emily Fritch. She just… just has to go through so much, and she's like… a really good friend of mine."

And Emily who sat next to her, stared at her like she was crazy, because everyone knew that Emily Fitch had never spoken to Patricia Farvier.

"It's Fitch," I said, trying to make sure that I was heard, but that no one would look over at me and that I wouldn't piss off anyone.

Like I said, good terms with everyone.

"That's what I meant," Patricia sobbed.

And in that moment I wanted to flip my desk over, pull Emily aside, and punch Patricia until she learned that Fritch is not the same as Fitch, and if she was going to start caring, she might as well have her facts straight.

And I was right, no one did look over at me. Well, almost right.

Emily Fitch, not Fritch, in all her glory turned back and gave me a smile that the likes of Patricia Farvier would never see.

Because Patricia was allowed to be sad, as was every one else, but they weren't allowed to start pretending that they were close to Emily when they weren't.

It would almost be like me saying that I felt bad because I was her sister. I wasn't her sister, I did feel bad, but it's wrong to start acting like we were closer than any other two people had ever been.

And it was odd, because these people were both right and wrong at once. They felt bad and treated Emily better (right), but they couldn't give a shit about Emily before (wrong).

And maybe I was in that category too in a way. I had only started hanging out with Emily AC (After Cancer). But I didn't pretend to be her best friend and I came over because I liked spending time with her, not because she was sick.

I didn't know why everyone else seemed to cry more than the girl who was supposed to be sick, it seemed like she would be crying more than everyone combined.

But she didn't.

So when the bell rung and I scrambled out passed the moving mass of bodies on to the bus, I began debating if I should visit Emily today.

I hadn't visited her a whole lot, and I felt like it would be clingy if I went over again.

And I thought I might look like a bit of a loser.

But I went to go visit her anyway, sans Cook.

She was in the chair again, reading a magazine that advertised a celebrity divorce and scandals.

One celebrity had sex with a man who was married.

One called another a "naughty" name.

One apparently quit working on a movie.

Emily flipped bored from one page to the next, not looking up.

"So, uh, hey," I said and watched as she glanced up in surprise but not disappointedly.

"Hey Naomi."

"You said that I should see you more, and I didn't really understand how much was more. Is this more or obsessively stalking you?"

"I've already called the police," she grinned.

"So, should I…"

I looked around awkwardly.

"No, Naomi, stay."

She reached down and patted the ground next to the chair. I rolled my eyes, walked over, and sat down.

"Okay."

"Apparently Wilma Regonsalse called her friend a bitch," Emily said in mock fascination.

"Well Wilma's a little wild now, isn't she?" I said in the same tone.

She laughed and I couldn't help but think how much I would like to hear that for the rest of my days.

It might sound like an exaggeration, but none of you have probably heard Emily Fitch laugh at one of your jokes. Let me assure, this is no exaggeration.

It's a beautiful sound.

I took off my army jacket and put it down next to me.

Emily glanced down.

"Why do you always wear that?" She asked.

"The jacket?"

"No, your bloody space goggles, yes your jacket, you space cadet!"

"Space cadet?"

"You're always spaced out. I mean, look how long it took you to get that I was asking about your army jacket."

"Oh…" I said smiling.

"So, the jacket?" Emily smiled.

"Oh, right. Well, um, I don't know, I like it."

"That's cool."

While Emily Fitch may be an open person, I on the other hand, am not.

While there was some truth to what I said, it wasn't the whole truth.

The truth was it was my dad's. He was the coolest guy I knew until he wasn't.

He had left my mum and I with nothing. Just left.

One day he was there asking me how I was enjoying school as he left for work, and the next day he was driving off in his car, his stuff packed up.

And much like the lady at the grocery store with a pretty smile and cancer, he never came back.

But he left me an army jacket, one that he had worn when he was a teenager.

Mum had always been against war, always saying peace not violence.

And I agreed. And so did dad. But he would put it on even though by that point it was too small, and use it to tease my mum, and then she would laugh and he would put it back in his closet.

And he would do this until mum snatched it and sewed a big old peace sign patch to the back.

He couldn't use it to tease her anymore.

And it wasn't until I was a freshmen and I was leaving for my first day that mum brought the old dusty thing out, and told me I looked much better in it than he ever had.

I'm not sure why I wore it, when I hated the man who owned it. But I did.

Maybe I wore it because I knew how much the peace sign had pissed my dad off when he realized he couldn't tease my mum anymore.

One of my big acts of teenage rebellion was wearing a jacket.

For fuck's sake.

But back to Emily Fitch and a dumb teen magazine.

And that "crazy" Wilma Regonsalse.

Emily accepted my answer and continued flipping through the magazine until she sighed and tossed it onto her bed.

"Jesus," she said, shaking her head.

"Well what did you expect? Those things are about as deep as a kiddie pool."

She laughed.

"Well I thought there might be more news than Andy Fitwerk's 'midnight rendezvous' with a mystery girl."

I laughed.

"So can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"How often should I come over?"

"I don't know. As much as you want."

"How much is that?"

"Why are you asking me?" She laughed.

"Well I don't want to stalk you. Might as well be riffling through your trash and making you a shrine in my locker."

She laughed harder.

"Don't act like you haven't already made one."

"Well, a few pictures and a lock of your hair, but we all have those."

"Do we?"

"Yeah…"

We broke out into boisterous laughter.

It filled the room and it seemed like there would never be uncomfortable silence among us again.

"Just come over. You're kinda shit with schedules."

She's not wrong.

I am pretty shit with those.

I kind of liked the idea that I could see her whenever I wanted to.

It felt like some sort of privilege I had earned.

You are rewarded a free pass to hang out with Emily Fitch.

And I was wrong.

The silence did come back.

It slowly crept over us and then drowned us, like the waves that crashed at a beach. Slowly coming up to you until they were washing you out completely.

I had wanted an answer though. How much was too much? How much was not enough? How much was just right?

I felt like fucking Goldilocks.

Thinking back on it, Goldilocks was kind of a picky, unappreciative twat. Also, I'm pretty sure she's guilty of breaking and entering, and also being a dick.

Anyways.

I sat up and started to walk around, looking at pictures on dressers and old cards that were accompanied with dead flowers.

I walked over to her large bookshelf, where books were stacked precariously.

I bent down a bit and started to look at all the books.

Textbooks, children books, Harry Potter novels with hundreds of pages, everything.

"I start chemo soon."

It came out of nowhere, just like her cancer, just like our friendship.

She said it quietly, like maybe if I didn't hear it then it wouldn't be true.

I looked over at her.

She was looking out her window, like she wanted to escape, but she couldn't.

No matter how far or how fast she ran, the cancer would follow.

I guess it was faster, or maybe just more stubborn.

To be honest it was really just a stubborn fucking asshole.

I looked back at the books.

"Oh?" I said kind of quietly. "When do you start?"

"I don't know. But the doctor said that it would be the next step. Maybe in a month or two."

And then it hit me.

This made everything very real.

This was the start of treatment, the real sign that she was indeed a sick person.

"That sucks."

I instantly cringed.

For fuck's sake Naomi! Cheer the fucking girl up or something! Don't just rifle through her books like a fucking twat!

"Yeah."

Take her mind off of it. Take her mind off of it.

"Any luck finding those movies."

"None," she said with an exasperated sigh. "I got nothing."

"That sucks."

Maybe Mr. Dirken was right, vocabulary is important. Look at me now. I'm a blubbering idiot who keeps telling her that things suck, like she didn't already know.

I expected her to start crying or scream at the ceiling why this was happening to her, but she didn't.

She just sat there quietly looking out the window.

And part of me thought that was much worse.

I waited for a reaction, but nothing came.

She sat on her chair, and then she picked up the magazine again.

And that's when I knew things weren't okay.

Because Emily Fitch would not pick up that stupid magazine for a second time.

But I didn't say this.

Instead, I stood there looking around, until time had passed and it was clear that things weren't getting any better.

When it was appropriate to leave I did, saying good bye and have a good night and all those pleasantries you typically exchange with strangers.

Because I guess that's what we were.

Strangers.

Because if I had known her better, I wouldn't have been surprised when she didn't cry. And I would have said more than, "That sucks." And I wouldn't stand there, looking around at her room like a twat.

November had begun and it immediately seemed colder, but I'm not really sure how that works.

I wasn't really sure how a lot of things work.

I sat down with my mum and ate takeout food and drank tea.

She went on about a lady in her yoga class, Jan.

Apparently, Jan was an old hippie like herself and they were spent the whole class doing downward dog and talking about protests.

Some mums gossiped, mine talked about how to save the world.

I went to my room and stared at math formulas and English writing prompts.

I started to work, trying to concentrate until an idea crept up.

It started with tiny whispering and then escalated.

It developed into full blown shouting just as I finished math and started to answer questions for English.

I sighed and moved over to my computer.

I opened google and started searching.

"Place to buy old movies."

Nothing good.

I went to Amazon and Ebay.

Nothing.

I went to Netflix.

Nothing.

For fuck's sake.

I made myself a promise.

I would find every single movie that had a poster taped to Emily Fitch's walls.

All 15 of them.

Even if it killed me.

But I couldn't really see that happening.

I went back to English prompts.

And when it was done I pulled back my covers and stripped down to my boxers and took off my bra.

I climbed in and let the darkness cloud my mind and my eyes shut.

I woke up and quickly got dressed, scolding myself once again for oversleeping.

I looked out my window and saw the bus in the distance.

Shit.

I scrambled down the stairs and ran out my front door to the bus stop, making it just as the doors were about to shut.

"Bloody kids," the bus driver grumbled as I walked to the back where Cook was seated, watching me with a shit-eating grin.

"Blondie! You're pulling some Mission Impossible shit aren't ya?"

"Shut it tosser."

"You love it!"

And with that the bus rolled on, stopping so better prepared kids who were waiting at their stops could get on.

And then we were deposited, the bus driver muttering something about, "bloody unappreciative twatting kids," and driving off as fast as a giant yellow vehicle would permit him to.

Cook and I walked into the school building and made our way to our classes.

And when classes had passed I made my way to the library where Cook was sitting on one of the chairs in the back in out usual spot. He had his feet kicked up and his phone was leaning against a stack of books. And in his hand was the biggest fucking bag of cookies that I had ever seen.

And when I say big, I mean huge. Jesus. Okay, well maybe not huge. Or really that big. In fact, don't listen to anything I said about the bag of cookies. It was more like a brown lunch bag filled to the brim with cookies.

Actually, that is kind of a lot of cookies.

Whatever.

I pulled up a chair and sat next to him.

He instantly passed me a handful of cookies.

"Where'd you get all these fucking cookies?" I decided to ask the obvious question.

"Nicked them from the baking club's bake sale. Some kid just had them in a brown paper bag."

"Why did you take them in the first place?" I decided to ask the second obvious question.

"I nicked a bit of spliff off Jeremy Hanson. He was fucking talking about dragons or some shit. I don't think that kid has ever been stoned before. I started to get the munchies," he laughed.

Jeremy Hanson was a wannabe stoner. And yes, people can have aspirations that low.

You see, the stoners were never exactly present. Ask them a question about what the cafeteria is serving and they will ask you why you think rainbows have six colors. Which is actually kind of a good question when you think about it.

But Jeremy would walk around with them, trying to enter their mind space, which was a little difficult since he had probably been stoned maybe two times in his life.

Cook probably would have been able to share a spliff with them if he wanted to, surprisingly they're not exactly greedy with their weed. I think that probably comes down to them not knowing that you were taking their spliff.

But Cook liked to just take it, which wasn't hard since all he had to do was touch their shoulder and then grab their plastic baggies and they would just look around, trying to figure out what had touched their shoulder.

Cook called it hunting the stupid.

I began to shove as many chocolate chip cookies as I could into my mouth, trying to eat them quickly when I saw the librarian walk over.

There's a no eating rule in the library. It was something the librarian was very strict about.

I figured it was probably because she couldn't control her graying hair or her wrinkling face so she chose to control the library.

But just like it was easy to steal the Jeremy Hanson's spliff, it was easy to eat while the librarian sat angrily in her chair.

I almost started choking and I immediately debated whether that would be one of the best ways to go or one of the worst.

Choking on stolen chocolate chip cookies.

It turns out that almost choking myself was for nothing. Mrs. Ineberg glided passed us without a second glance. Although, her first glance wasn't very nice.

Cook looked at me and smiled, laughing quietly as I reached for another cookie.

The clock ticked and we watched skateboarders try to grind and miss and smash their balls back up into pre-puberty. Mountain bikers smashed into trees and drunk men stumbled into unassuming bushes. People tried to do parkour and landed with a thud on their backs.

At one point, a man tripped on an escalator and Cook started to laugh.

The librarian instantly came over to us and Cook tried to change it into a cough.

She didn't buy it.

She was approaching us quickly and we had a half eaten bag of chocolate chip cookies.

Cook passed it to me. I passed it back to him. We kept on passing it back and forth until she was very close.

It was at this moment that I took the bag and shoved it under my shirt, crossing my arms in front.

"Are you two okay?" She asked with no concern, but rather an expression that was really asking, "How did you two manage to fuck everything up?"

I also may have forgotten to mention that both Cook and I had about three chocolate chip cookies in our mouths at once.

"We're good," I spoke in an odd sounding slur that one can only get with three cookies in their mouth at once.

She gave us another odd glance and walked away, a scowl visible from a mile away.

Cook looked at me and we both tried to refrain from laughing as we audibly swallowed the cookies and I grabbed the bag out from under my shirt.

The bell rung and as we walked into the hall, I suddenly remembered something.

"Cook, I need your help with something," I said turning to him suddenly.

"What's up?" He asked, his brow furrowing.

"We need to find some old, unknown movies."

Easier said than done.

 **Hope you guys liked it! Let me know what you think. Next chapter will be posted in a couple days.**


	3. Chapter 3

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hi! I wasn't gonna update until Thursday or Friday, but I decided that I wanted to update today. The next update will be Saturday at the very latest. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited, and also just took the time to read this story.**

 **One guest asked me a question about the dialogue, and also wrote a nice comment, (thank you for that), so I just wanted to address that. I'm American, so even if I'm not trying, a lot of it just sounds very American. When I first wrote the story, I used a lot of British slang because it was originally going to take place in England. As time went on, I just decided to change it so it takes place in America. Sorry for the confusing dialogue, if it becomes too hard to understand, just let me know and I really don't mind changing the British slang to American slang.**

 **Also, one last thing. All of the chapters are at least 5,000 words, so I was thinking about maybe dividing each chapter in half if it becomes too much at once. If it is too much, let me know, I honestly don't mind splitting it in half.**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **Chapter 3:**

Cook and I sat on the bus going over a game plan to acquire the unobtainable movies.

"Uncle Keith could get it I reckon. The man's a fucking legend. Can get any fucking thing," Cook said with confidence.

Uncle Keith was Cook's uncle, who ran a shitty pub. It was the shitty pub where we spent a lot of time getting pints and getting trashed.

He could get anything. A mix of drugs that were most definitely not safe. Video games that hadn't been released yet. Knock off brands.

I'm not saying my mum's gold earrings I got her for her birthday aren't real, but let's just say that $2.34 isn't the amount that they usually cost.

Get it?

They're fake. I got them from Uncle Keith.

"What movies do you need?"

I go through my army jacket until I find the neatly folded piece of notebook paper and opening it up.

An August Rain

The Incredible Adventures of Charles the Dog

Guilty of the Following

Vast Blue Ocean

Sea of Thoughts

A Quarrel in Paradise

Peering Off the Edge

Eying the Stranger

Lighting the Sky

Passion in Paradise

A New King

Heart of Silver

Sinking Ship

Orange Delusional

And finally, Emily's favorite. The one about the man and woman deeply in love…

Night of Love

I handed Cook the list and he instantly squinted.

"What the fuck are these? I've never heard one of these. Are you fucking with me Blondie?" 

"No, she just likes all these unknown movies. You think I've heard of them before?"

"Jesus."

"Yeah, I know. It's gonna be impossible."

Cook shook his head and elbowed me.

"Nah. Keith can get anything. Hooked me up with a sweet speaker system, this should be a piece of cake."

"I don't know," I said unsurely.

"He got this dickhead a documentary about llamas that isn't available here or anywhere for at least 100,000 miles. Why he wanted a documentary about llamas, I don't know. All I know is that Keith supplied."

What kind of assclown wants to see a documentary on llamas? What kind of asshat goes through great lengths to get said documentary on llamas?

Anyway.

Cook looked again at the list, and with a shaky sigh that turned into a smile, he turned back to me.

"We got this. I'll call Keith once we get to mine."

"Okay."

That's all I said because there wasn't really much else to say other than okay.

Because it was exactly that.

It wasn't great and it wasn't bad, it was just okay. It wouldn't be great until I had gotten all those movies.

If I had all those movies than Emily would be happy. And I would be happy.

The bus deposited us and we walked to Cook's.

Paddy was on the couch with no shirt on eating cereal, while Cook's mum was passed out below him, the red wine bottle in her hand long empty, half probably consumed and the other half staining the once white carpet.

Paddy wasn't fazed, simply lifting the spoon into his mouth, as he sat slouched watching a man on a game show try to guess letters to make up a word he wouldn't ever get.

There were two A's, one L, one T, and a whole lot of blank spaces.

"Hey Cook, hey Naomi," Paddy said, looking over at us. "Mum's been tired a lot lately. I think it's because she was wrestling last night with that guy who painted our house."

She was not wrestling, but Paddy did not need to know that.

Cook looked down at his mother and sighed.

Sometimes I wondered why we didn't just hang out at my house, but it was easier not to question it and I couldn't bear leaving Paddy alone with his mum.

"Grab her feet will ya?" Cook said, grabbing his mum's legs as I threw my jacket onto the couch and grabbed his mum's legs, sighing at how surprisingly heavy she is.

We carried her into her bedroom, and tossed her on the bed.

And when I say tossed, I mean tossed. We probably could have set her down more gently, but then again, the librarian could have looked at us nicer and Jeremy Hanson could have higher aspirations.

Sometimes things just were the way they were.

I flopped down on the couch next to Paddy as he passed me a bowl of cereal he had prepared for me.

Too much milk, but good intentions, so I ate it with no complaints.

Cook sat down on the other side of Paddy, grabbing crisps and a beer, passing me one too.

"Alan isn't very good at this game," Paddy said, pointing to the man on TV who was frowning at the letters, willing them to reveal the answer to him so he could win a cruise for two to the Bahamas.

Milk and beer is not a good combination, but I wanted them both, so I found myself in a bit of a dilemma. Just like the man on the TV who couldn't guess the word, I couldn't figure out what to do.

I decided to just suck it up and have both.

I continued eating cereal and taking sips of my beer.

Paddy was right. Alan sucked at this.

Needless to say, he did not go home with a cruise for two to the Bahamas.

"Anything cool happen today?" I asked after a commercial about house insurance came on the TV and Alan disappeared.

"Holly Deranter has striped underwear," Paddy said innocently, just a mere observation.

My eyes are blue.

Cook has short hair.

Holly has striped underwear.

I chocked on my sip of bear and started to cough.

"What?" I asked as Cook laughed.

"I dropped my crayon and I had to go under the table to get it. And when I looked up, I saw her underwear," he said again, and then looked nervous, unsure if he had done anything wrong.

"Maybe don't look at girls' underwear, mate," I say after I recover.

"Okay," he says easily.

"Oh and Matty McHuberman has a new Lego set," he says and Holly Deranter is forgotten.

I see Cook fiddling with his phone. He puts it in his back pocket and smiles at me.

"Just texting Keith. He'll see what he can do. I reckon he'll get everything on your list."

"Cool. Thanks."

I took another sip of my bear and placed my now finished bowl of cereal onto the table in front of us.

And that's how we stay. We talk about boring shit and everything and nothing, and I wonder how doing absolutely nothing can be so fun.

I guess it's because I'm with people I care about immensely.

Or something like that.

We stayed like that for a bit, and then Paddy's eyelids started to droop a bit, and I remembered the pile of homework waiting for me on my desk at home, so I got up and walked back to my house, as the sky got darker and the sky got colder and I became more bitter.

Homework wasn't the only thing waiting for me at home.

Mum sat at the table, dinner on the table.

"Hello love!" She smiled.

"Hi."

I pulled out one of the old wooden brown chairs and sat down, grimacing when I looked down.

The plate had vegan noodles, a weird gray color that looked slimy.

Mum always served odd food, ranging from flowers she had heard had healing effects to I don't even know what.

Sometimes we ate meat, but it was always strange, never chicken nuggets or cheeseburgers. It was always some slimy kind of part of an animal that I had never heard of.

I was used to it, or at least that's what I liked to tell myself.

I smiled though at my mum, because telling her these things would make her sad, and I would rather eat the gross food than see her eyes harden.

It goes down like how I imagine a can of worms would.

And when it's over and mum is done telling me about the latest protest where she held the megaphone, which was like an honor of sorts, I washed my plate and retired to my room.

The homework sat on my desk like a pile of zombies, brain eating and killing and monstrous.

I was kinda biased though.

I stumbled out of my bed in the morning, not even remembering how I got there, or how I managed to finish my homework, but I did.

I looked at the clock and scrambled into the shower, washing quickly and practically jumping into my clothes.

I grabbed my messenger bag and jumped down the stairs, taking them three at a time.

The bus was waiting and I ran into it, almost running into the bus driver, who, in return, gave me a glare and told me to get my ass in the back or else I'll be kicked out.

He really is a charming man.

P.S. That was sarcasm.

I don't mean it.

Cook sat next in the usual spot, an apologetic expression on his face and I didn't want to know why.

"Keith told me it's pointless. The movies. Everyone he asked, nothing."

"What? Are you fucking kidding me? He got the llama documentary, but no, he couldn't get these?"

"Keith ain't too keen with movies. He got lucky with the llama movie."

"What happened to Keith, the legend, the guy who could get anything?"

Cook shrugged, looking sheepish.

"Sorry mate."

"Fuck."

I guess I'll have to get the movies some other way.

We got to school and Cook said went off to nick some spliff off another poor stoner.

"You wanna steal some spliff?" He asked already walking to the field where they could be found on the bleachers.

"Nah. Have fun though."

"Alright."

He walked off, rubbing his hands together, already preparing his plan, not that he would really need one.

It was like a nature show.

And here we see the wild Cook, getting ready to pounce on the unsuspecting stoners. He will use the distraction tactic, tapping their shoulders and running off with their hard work's pay off.

And they will not follow, as the Cook has proven his dominance in many a fight.

I walked into the school and into the theater, where I found Reed Dewrig and Geoffrey Vevrec, or otherwise known as Darkness and Soul Sucker, sitting in the back, playing with magic cards, while Amy Skyler, or, Night Vixen, was reading poetry.

"Darkness in my soul,

Oh the pain,

Death,

Death,

Smash their skulls,

With my leather boots,

And hear their screams,

Echoing-

Hey Naomi."

She looked up from her notebook where her shit poetry was written.

"Hey Naomi."

"Hello."

They all looked up as me as I awkwardly squatted down, my lanky frame protesting.

"Hey guys."

They dressed in black, with odd clothing, as they were the dorky gothic kids, who played magic cards and talked about pain.

So fun things like that.

"You so need another name. I'm thinking Ashes," Reed, or Darkness, said.

"Nah, I don't think I can pull it off like you guys," I lied.

The real reason was because if I became too attached to them then I would lose my ins with the other groups.

"Okay. You want to here some poetry?" Night Vixen asked, eagerly flipping to a new page in her notebook, where a skull was carved into the front.

"Sure."

"Life hurts,

Like a knife,

Cutting into my soul,

Darkness seeps out,

Pain,

Pain,

Death,

Death,

Ouch"

I wanted to laugh at the ouch part, but instead I pulled up my jacket and nodded, trying to look deeply moved.

"Woah Night Vixen, it's really good," I said, and I think she might have smiled, but I can't really tell because of all the white make up caked onto her face.

"Oh shit, I have to go talk to one of my teachers about this one essay. I'll see you guys around." Lies.

"Okay. I should probably go soon too. I have a sub in calculus today and I want to get in early."

"Bye Naomi, or should I say Ashes."

You shouldn't.

In fact, please don't.

I'm begging you.

I walked into room 456, where the math nerds sat, stereotypical suspenders and glasses and headgear in full force.

"What's up guys?" I said as they looked towards me and smiled, or tried to, as it was buried under all the metal train tracks.

"Heyths Naomeeth," Dolly Frite lisped awkwardly through her headgear.

"Hey Dolly. Hey did you hear that there's a math sub today in calculus?"

They looked at me curiously.

"Really?" They said surprised, all ears waiting to hear anything else I had to say.

"Yeah, Mr. Grewer is sick today."

Thank you Soul Sucker and your inside scoop, however the fuck you managed to get it, and before the math nerds too, who always seemed to know everything about their teachers. Their families, their pets' names, how their vacation to Hawaii was.

But anyway.

I continued to do this, going around to a few more groups, and then going into English, where Mr. Dirken already looked disgusted with us, and it wasn't even eight yet.

"Oxford commas are important. If you don't know them-"

Let me guess, you will never succeed, be terribly miserable, and die a painful and awful death.

"-you will never succeed."

Close enough.

The class continued, despite the fact that I had stopped listening long ago, only managing to write down:

Oxford commas = all success and happiness in life

No Oxford commas = sadness and sharks eating your legs

Which was true apparently. Or close enough anyways.

Classes passed and I continued to pretend like I cared, only half listening as I learned about history.

And finally, fucking finally, the bell rung and school was over.

The weekend was here.

I walked into the hall and almost instantly Cook ran into me, jumping and pushing himself up by using my shoulders.

"What the fuck Cook? Are you a bloody gymnast now?"

"Chillax Blondie, just fucking excited. We're going clubbing tonight. Just you, me, alcohol, spliff, pills, and getting laid."

"Cook," I said rolling my eyes and giving him a look at that last part.

"Pop your cherry for fuck's sake Naomio," he said, elbowing me playfully.

I was a virgin.

"How is that possible?" You may ask.

"How can a senior who has James Cook, who will shag anything with a pulse, as their best mate, be a virgin?" You may wonder.

It's very possible actually.

It's just a very hard feat to accomplish.

One of my proudest accomplishments, really.

Not actually.

Not at all.

You have to be awkward.

Like very awkward.

And even then, it's still not easy to accomplish.

But I managed to.

Me and my awkwardness.

Ungainly and and gawky, that's me.

"Let's go fucking mental Naomikins!"

He has managed to use all three of his nicknames for me in one, single conversation.

Congrats Cook.

I continued walking as he continued to discuss our plans, which included the following:

Step 1: Smoke some spliff at Cook's house

Step 2: Go to Keith's Bar

Step 3: Drink some shitty, free alcohol

Step 4: Go to a club

Step 5: Take some pills

Step 6: Drink more, slightly better alcohol

Step 7: Dance like a wanker

Step 8: Convince some girls to shag us before they realize that we are not charming, good looking, or even slightly tolerable

Number eight was a bit of a stretch, I realize that.

Well, for me it was a stretch.

For Cook, it was protocol.

We climbed into the bus and sat in out usual seat towards the back.

"You coming over to mine today? Or are you going to red's?"

Red = Emily Fitch

"I think I'm going to see Emily. Are you coming?"

"Nah. But come over to mine later if you want so we can do the usual."

The usual consisted of all eight steps for Cook and the first seven for me.

I got off the bus and walked up to the red door and knocked, waiting for Mrs. Fitch to answer.

"Naomi!"

And with that I got a bone-crushing hug, like always.

For such a polite and proper woman, I would never expect this from Jenna Fitch. She seemed like more of the handshake and insincere smile type.

But what did I know?

Other than Oxford commas are equivalent to life, not much.

I entered the house after a bit and climbed up the stairs, knocking on Emily's door and waiting for an answer.

Mr. Fitch wasn't there to give me the warning look.

"Come in."

So I did.

I turned the brass knob and walked in, watching as Emily stared at the door intently to see who was intruding.

She saw me and a small unsure smile played on her lips, like a violinist's first few nervous notes at the start of a beautiful symphony.

But here was the difference:

Emily Fitch's smile was more beautiful than any symphony that I had ever heard, or would probably ever hear.

It is difficult to truly describe the magnitude of Emily's beauty.

But I will try, because I feel like I owe that to you.

She had this long, vibrant red hair that always looked freshly dyed. It swept passed her shoulders and her skin was pale, but not like an ugly vampire. It was beautiful, so beautiful, her skin. Her neck. I liked her neck. It was gorgeous. I didn't even think that necks could be anything other than necks, but hers was gorgeous. I liked her face a lot.

I'm not very good with words.

But back to her face.

Her face was slim, and she had these warm, chocolate eyes, that always looked so kind. And her smile, oh her smile. It was beautiful. I don't know how else to describe it.

In all my life, I wonder if I will ever see anything as beautiful as Emily Fitch's smile.

And this is me, describing her as an acquaintance, so I cannot even fathom how someone deeply in love with her would describe her.

Probably as a goddess of sorts.

But that sounds cliché and kinda over doing it.

But back to me standing in her doorway, as she looked at me and broke into her beautiful smile.

"Hey Blondie," she said in an awful Cook imitation.

I laughed and walked over to where she sat on her bed, sitting on ground next to it.

"Hey."

Do you ever have these thoughts, where something you never thought of just occurs to you?

Well I had one of these thoughts now.

"Where's Katie?"

It was a good question, because surely the twin sister who cried loudly in math would want to be with her sister.

But apparently not.

Emily scoffed.

"Probably shagging her newest, brainless, footballer boyfriend."

So I figured this equation:

New, no brain, football boyfriend Twin sister with cancer

"You should see her, she practically shoves her tongue down his throat."

"Why the fuck would I want to see that?" I fake shuddered as she laughed.

"If I have to suffer, than you have to suffer too."

"Well that doesn't seem like a whole lot of fun."

"It's not. And to make matters worse, she used to try and push boys onto me, said that her sister couldn't be a lezzer."

It was a known fact that Emily was gay. Not because she was some sort of Casanova who picked up several girls at school. It was just a known fact.

Katie Fitch shags a lot of guys.

Mr. Dirken teaches English.

Soul Sucker is a goth dork who was once caught having an erection in health class.

Jeremy Hanson was a wannabe stoner.

Emily Fitch is gay.

I also figured this out, but I had figured this out a while ago:

Katie Fitch ≠ Emily Fitch

It was not a difficult thing to figure out.

"It was awful. Sweaty, gross guys, stumbling trying to convince me to let them into my pants. You wouldn't have survived one day of it."

"I don't doubt that," I said and she giggled.

She got up off the bed, and I started to wonder about Katie.

What kind of sister pushes her sister to do things that make them uncomfortable?

What kind of sister will cry loudly while I try to learn formulas, but can't be bothered to spend time with whom she cried about?

Emily walked over to her bookshelf, the same one I had looked through, and moved a few books aside.

"Where is it? If that stupid cow took it I swear I'll- Oh there it is!" She muttered to herself.

Turning around, she pulled out a bottle of alcohol, the label scratched off and peeling.

She sat down next to me, leaning against the bed, and I suddenly realized how close in proximity we were.

She laughed, but I didn't know why. I think it is just something people do when they do something mischievous. God knows how many times I've done it.

I think that it was a lot like how mothers tell their children they are beautiful, even if they are not.

She took a sip and I saw her instantly cringe, and she passed me the bottle, trying to smile, but obviously not meaning it after taking a sip of such hard alcohol.

"Drink!" She said and I smiled because it sounded cute when she said it.

I brought it up to my lips and took a tentative sip.

Vodka.

The alcohol of choice, of her choice, or at least that she could get her hands on, was fucking vodka.

I did not like vodka a whole lot.

But I drank it anyways, because Emily smiled when she saw me do it, and I liked it when she smiled.

I passed the bottle and Emily took another small sip, putting the bottle to her side. It was quiet for a minute before she began to talk.

"Yeah, I hated it. And then I told her I was gay and she was convinced that I just needed to find the right guy."

I nodded, but I still didn't really understand, because no one had told me that I couldn't be gay.

"And it was kinda… well, shit for a bit."

"That rhymes!" I said and she looked over at me and smiled.

It was one of those smiles you give a five year old who says they learned to tie their shoes and just ties a bunch of random knots.

She gave me a playful shove and continued.

"But then she accepted it, and things were good again."

"That didn't rhyme."

She rolled her eyes, but didn't look angered.

"I wish she had accepted me before she had made me kiss a few of them. Yuck." She shuddered, but I don't think it was fake like mine.

"That sucks."

Apparently those were my only words of condolences.

Your car died? That sucks.

You can't find your cat? That sucks.

Your sister is a bitch? That sucks.

You bombed your math test? That sucks.

But it did suck. It sucked quite a bit actually.

"Yeah. My first kiss was with… Jessie Gibbiff," she said and immediately cringed, looking like she wanted to throw up.

Jessie Gibbiff used to go to middle school with us. He was not a good guy. I mean this in the sense that he used to pick on a punch of kids.

No one was safe, but he wasn't considered a bully. He was more like the annoying kid who made terrible jokes. What he didn't realize was that they were awful, and that he his comebacks and teasings were just pure shit.

He was good looking I guess, or at least Katie seemed to think so.

He had greasy black hair and a crooked smile.

I did not think he was good looking.

I bet his mum probably did though.

"I'm so sorry to hear that. Are you okay?" I asked and watched as Emily played along with my over the top concern, fanning her eyes and trying to look as though she was crying.

"I don't think so."

Emily looked over to me and had a curious expression on her face, like a thought just occurred to her.

"Who was your first kiss?"

Who was my first kiss?

Throughout my life, girls have always been an interest of mine.

That sounds creepy. I swear it's not.

The first crush I ever had on a girl was when I was in the second grade. Her name was Brittany, and she had blonde hair and brown eyes, but not like Emily's. She sat next to me in class, and I remember looking over at her. And I remember one day I was doing this, and it hit me. I liked her. So, what did I do? I asked Cook what to do. He said to ask her is she liked me, because according to him, I was ace and she probably had a massive crush on me.

So, because Cook knew these things, I walked up to her on the playground and said this:

"I think you have a crush on me."

She did not.

Instead of agreeing with me, she looked at me sideways, tilting her head and furrowing her eyebrows.

"I don't. I have a crush on Julien."

I remember my distinct dislike for Julien.

I continued to have little crushes and then came the fifth grade, and with the fifth grade came Lola Patters. She had glasses, kind of frizzy hair and always wore this pin of a cartoon bear cuddling another cartoon bear.

I thought she was a little strange.

Her best friend though, Rachel Fritz, was not strange. Rachel had dirty blonde hair up to her shoulders and wore clothes that were considered a little scandalous. This was the fifth grade, so when I say scandalous, I mean it showed a little bit of her shoulder.

Cook and I had always talked about girls. Compared crushes and all of that.

I remember seeing Rachel, and instantly thinking:

"This girl is hot."

And Cook agreed, but at the moment he was trying to convince Chelsea Ulhera to kiss him, so Rachel was not on his mind.

I decided to go with the whole, make her jealous tactic.

So instead, I hung around Lola, and in doing so, I also got to hang around Rachel.

And somehow, the plan got fucked up.

You see, I just wanted to make Lola think I was cool, and start hanging around me. That way Rachel would think I was cool and fun and then want to hang around me. She would get jealous, and boom! I would be dating Rachel Fritz.

Instead of that, Lola developed a crush on me, and I learned that Rachel was not the jealous type.

But Lola was.

So hanging around any other girl always resulted in her scowling.

I went through the entire fifth grade with Lola practically stalking me, even though I had given up on any hopes to carry through with my plan.

It ended when she moved away in the fifth grade and Rachel changed schools.

Seventh grade resulted in my first kiss. Annie Wilders. She had long brown hair and pale green eyes. And she was pretty.

Like, really pretty.

And like really single.

So what did I do?

Well, by then mum had already known I was gay. So I asked her.

"Mum? What do girls want?"

Despite being a girl, I hadn't the slightest clue what they wanted.

"You should woo her! Bring her to a protest, or better yet, I'll cook some really good food and you can serve her dinner!"

Safe to say Mum was overly excited.

And at the time, I was too. Word got around that Annie was gay, and that meant this:

A single, pretty, gay girl was pretty much just waiting for me to take her on some kind of date.

Cook said she was gagging for it.

I didn't know what "it" was, but I assumed that "it" was me, so one day, after the final bell had rung and school had let out and she was at her locker, I walked up and said this:

"You, me. Date… me. You should do that. Go on a… social adventure, which some call a date… with me. On Friday. My house. If you want…"

She stared at me for a long time, or at least it felt like a long time.

"Sure."

And I ran all the way back to Cook's locker, high fiving him and jumping on him.

"I've got a date with Annie Wilders, I've got a date with Annie Wilders! Who's got a date with Annie Wilders?" I chanted as we walked down the almost empty hall.

"You've got a date with Annie Wilders!" He chanted back.

By then Cook had managed to kiss Chelsea Ulhera and quite a few others. He was currently trying to convince Wendy Waterson to give him a handjob or a blowjob behind the bike shack. He told me this:

"I'd let her choose which one she wanted to give me, because I'm like proper fucking gentlemanly or some shit like that."

How sweet.

Friday rolled around, and I was sitting on my couch waiting anxiously for the sound of knocking.

And finally it came.

Mum was out at a protest, saying that I wouldn't want my old embarrassing mum there.

She wasn't wrong.

That sounds mean, but she would have just gotten overly excited.

I opened the door, and I instantly felt underdressed.

I have the mind of a teenage boy. Always. Back then, and now.

It's not because I'm always thinking about sex, I mean, I'm a virgin.

It's because I'm oblivious to things.

For example, I'm oblivious to the fact that wearing an old, sweatshirt with holes was not appropriate on a first date.

You see, she wore a cute dress.

And it also did not occur to me to change.

But we went into the house and she sat down at the dining table, as I went into the kitchen to grab the bangers and mash mum had made.

Sounds good, right?

Well they weren't because they were vegan and looked like someone took a dump on our plates.

So we awkwardly ate them in silence.

"I should probably go," she said after dinner was eaten and we sat awkwardly on the couch.

Why didn't I just take her to a fucking movie? 

"I'm sorry. This was shit, I know. I just couldn't take you to the fucking cinema like a normal person, I had to serve you some dog shit looking… shit. And then I just sat and stared at you like some massive tosser. Why the fuck did I think that this would be good? Why didn't I just do something normal? Why the fuck did I make you endure this fucking shit show? Everything was just-"

I didn't finish my rant because she leaned forward and kissed me.

And I shut up immediately, because when a girl's lips are on yours, you kiss back.

And when she pulled back I sat there speechless.

"Can we do that again? The kissing thing?" I said awkwardly.

And so we did.

I learned how to French Kiss that day.

Needless to say, the relationship ended quickly because the only thing we had in common was that we liked kissing each other.

There were many other crushes and even a couple of awkward short-lived relationships.

And when I say short-lived, I mean brief. Very brief.

But, it was something.

I'm getting off topic, kinda.

Emily looked at me expectantly.

I reached over her and grabbed the bottle of vodka, taking a small sip.

"Annie Wilders. Seventh Grade."

"Oh I remember her! Oh, shit you did have a bit of a thing, didn't you?"

I laughed and gave her a crooked smile.

"Yeah, if you can call a few awkward dates a thing."

We sat and the silence engulfed us.

I looked around, even though by now I knew her bedroom pretty well.

I always found something new, something I had never seen before.

Last time it was this little plastic monkey figurine on her dresser.

This time it was a "Don't Get Fit, Get Fitch!" T-shirt discarded on her floor.

She grabbed the bottle from my hand and our pinkies brushed and I wanted to laugh because it reminded me of the first time I tried to hold someone's hand, awkwardly brushing fingers until our hands were squished together uncomfortably.

Needless to say, that relationship did not last long.

She took another sip.

"So, what are you gonna do tonight? Hang with Cook?"

Icebreaker.

"Yeah, I guess so. I'm kinda tired though, so I might just go home and sleep and do something with him tomorrow. Tell him to fly solo."

She nodded, but she looked a little confused.

I think that is just something people do.

Nod, even if they don't completely get it. It's easier than saying, "Actually, could you please explain this. I do not understand this social situation."

There was silence, but it wasn't really uncomfortable. It was just kinda there. Not enjoyable, but I wasn't squirming like I would have a couple weeks ago.

She turned her head to the side and I looked at her, like really looked at her, like a stalker would.

Her red hair was kept need in a ponytail, except for a few messy strands and my reflex was to brush some rebels behind her ear.

Just a reflex.

She wasn't wearing makeup, and I was kinda surprised.

She looked really pretty.

Prettier than all my crushes and past "relationships" combined, not to compare like some sort of douchebag.

She looked better without makeup.

She looked gorgeous, better than all those girls you see on those magazines and on runways, or the ones we saw in the Playboy Cook stole from his creepy neighbor when he was little, (don't ask me how, because I still don't have a fucking clue).

Her eyes were closed and she took a breath, or chest rising gently and then falling.

I watched her intently, but I don't really know why.

She began to laugh, and once again I wasn't entirely sure why, but I closed my eyes too, and I just heard this beautiful sound.

I opened my eyes again.

And this is all from an acquaintance's point of view.

I liked the way she talked. Is that odd?

She just talked about things I liked and made me laugh, and her voice was husky, but soft at the same time, and I'm trying to figure out how that can possibly be, but I'm learning very quickly that Emily Fitch is a graceful open book and a beautiful mystery all at once.

I'm not really sure how that works, but it just does.

She was the girl who would tell you all these things about herself and she is the same girl who didn't cry when everyone around her did.

She turned to me and opened her eyes.

And we talked. She kept flickering her eyes down to my lips, but I don't know why.

We always talk about little things. Stupid little things.

But I was becoming an Emily Fitch expert.

Her favorite flowers were lilies.

Her favorite color was blue (she said this while looking me intently in the eyes. I don't know why though).

She loved old movies.

She hated tequila.

She tolerated vodka.

Her favorite book was Dear Mr. Henshaw.

She clicked her pen when she was nervous.

Her middle name was Diane.

She could eat a large amount of food easily.

She loved Ferris Bueller's Day Off and The Princess Bride.

Just little things like that.

But just like her room, I always discovered something new.

I felt a buzz in my pocket and pulled out my phone, looking at the time.

5:42.

Cook had texted me.

"U coming? Or will we go mental 2morrow?"

I gave Emily an apologetic look as she was right in the middle of explaining the time when she was seven and her dog ran away because Katie wanted to give it a bath and how she tried to blame it on Emily.

"2morrow. Emily's."

I got a response seconds later.

"Oh… I c. ;)"

I rolled my eyes and typed out a response.

"It's not like that."

I put my phone back in my pocket and continued to listen to the story of Fluffy, the badass dog who had ran away immediately after being given the chance, and was still rumored to be roaming the streets today.

Laughter filled the room and I was trying to catch my breath at hearing that Katie tried to run after Fluffy, shouting:

"No, no, no! You were supposed to stay! I love you, and you're supposed to stay, stupid!"

I pulled out my phone again and checked the time.

6:03.

I stood up and pulled my jacket tighter around myself.

"I should probably get going, but I'll see you later, yeah?"

"When's later?" She asked.

Later is later.

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow it is."

"Okay."

She stood up and reached up on her tippy toes.

She pressed a kiss to my cheek and I did everything I could to not touch the spot when she pulled away.

I felt this kinda… tingle there.

Tingle?

That sounds gross.

That sounds like I just came in my pants.

I didn't.

I promise.

"I'm holding you to that."

"Okay."

Okay and that sucks.

I guess those are all I can say in life.

I love you.

Okay.

I broke all the bones in my body.

That sucks.

I walked down the stairs.

Mr. Fitch was home, he looked at me curiously.

"Naomi! How are you?"

Here's the thing about Mr. Fitch. He was a nice guy, very nice. He had this large smile and it was almost always genuine.

Here's the other thing. He was a big strong guy. He did, own a gym after all. He was also very protective over his daughters.

I'm going to tell you a quick story about a boy named Scotty Renold.

Basically, Scotty Renold was a very popular boy. Many thought he was good looking. The girls threw practically themselves at him.

He was captain of some sports team at school. I never cared enough to learn which one.

Katie Fitch was one of the previously mentioned girls.

And what did Katie Fitch do?

Well she did what Katie Fitch usually does.

To put it bluntly, she fucked him.

She was not a virgin when she did it, hell, I can't even imagine her as a virgin.

But what happened when Mr. Fitch caught them in the act one day after school when he came home early from work?

Well, let's just say that Scotty Renold came back to school with two black eyes and crutches.

He did not play sports for quite a while.

He changed schools two weeks later.

Rumor says that Mr. Fitch beat the shit out of him.

Actually, basic reasoning says that Mr. Fitch beat the shit out of him.

"Good sir. How are you?"

"I'm fine. And call me Rob, kiddo."

I smiled at him and walked out the door.

Walking back to my house so I could retire for the night.

My cheek still burned.

 **This AN consists of thank you's and it probably sounds like a lot of ass kissing, but I really just wanted to say thank you.**

 **Thank you for reading! I read every single review like three times and they always put a smile on my face, so thank you for that!**

 **I just want to thank NegroAmigo, LilyCanBeMyPyjamas, Irma the Lunch lady, a guest named anon, and four other guests for reviewing and writing kind words, really means a lot. Thank you so much!**

 **Thank you to yllod, nyuh, chloelove, cfonseca4, Fitcherella, and mynameislizzie as well.**

 **It was probably odd of me to write all of these thank you's, but I really just wanted to say thanks for everything.**

 **Next chapter will posted soon!**


	4. Chapter 4

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hey. Thank you so much for reviewing, following, favoriting, and reading this story! It really does mean a lot to me. I'm almost done with the ninth chapter of this story. I just wanted to say that as the story goes on, for a few chapters, the cancer is not talked about a whole lot, and that is because I am writing this from Naomi's point of view, and since Emily does not seem sick to her, she forgets that she is a lot of the time. Anyways, get ready for some Naomily in this chapter!**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

 **Chapter 4:**

I woke up to birds chirping.

Not pleasantly like on TV, but apocalyptically.

Like, chirps of death.

But anyways.

I tried to throw the covers over my head, telling the birds to:

"Kindly fuck off."

But it didn't work, so I got out from under my sanctuary and walked into the bathroom, showering.

I walked back into my room, towel wrapped tightly around my body and started to change, wearing what I always wore, black jeans, a Joy Division t-shirt, and my jacket.

I grabbed my phone and texted Cook.

"Hanging out w/ Emily 2day, see u later?"

I got a response quickly.

"Emily again, huh? U sly dog, Naomio."

"Shut the fuck up James."

"How is ur willy wagging?"

"Shut."

"Is it fun?"

"The."

"I bet it was a lot of fun."

"Fuck."

"Nice one Naomikins."

"Up."

"We'll hang out 2day, Blondie, yeah?"

"Sounds good."

I laid down for a second, putting my hands behind my head and taking a deep breath.

"Naomi! Naomi!" I heard my mum call, not even a minute after I lied down.

I sat up and walked downstairs into the kitchen.

"Yeah mum?"

She shoved the newspaper in my face like an excited six year old showing their parents their art project, which was just a blob of crayon colors scratched chaotically onto unsuspecting paper.

Poor, old paper. It never even saw it coming.

Probably because paper doesn't have eyes.

I grabbed the newspaper and held it not as close to my face.

"'Bristol Fair, Saturday. Come and have a swinging good time! Tickets cost ten dollars each,'" I read aloud.

"Okay…So…?" I asked.

"So? You should go! Take Emily!" Mum said enthusiastically.

"Okay…"

"Have fun!"

And that's how our conversation went.

Well that, and she gave me money.

So all in all, it went pretty well.

My phone rung the second I got back upstairs.

I don't know why I can't just have a moment of peace and quiet, from the fucking demon birds to my overly enthusiastic mum, to now my needy as fuck phone.

I sighed over dramatically, like a bad actress in one of the shitty movies Cook and I watch.

I lied down on my bed and answered before checking who was calling.

"Hello?"

"Hey Naomi!" I heard a husky voice and I bolted upright, sitting up energetically.

"Hi Emily."

How'd she get my number?

"I got your number from your mum."

Can she read my mind? Also, I should probably talk to mum about giving my number out.

"Oh… Kay."

"So what are we doing today?"

"… Uh… I'm not really sure," I said and scratched the back of my neck sheepishly.

"No ideas? None at all?"

I feel like there was a right answer here, I'm just not entirely sure what it is.

"There's a carnival tonight?"

"Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner. So what time are we going?"

"Ummm… I don't know."

"Pick me up at six thirty then?"

"Sure?"

"Great! See you then!"

"Okay… Bye."

I looked at my phone, asking it what the hell had just happened.

'Cause I didn't have a fucking clue.

I glanced over at the clock on my bedside table.

7:47

"Fuck it! I'm going to Cook's."

I walked down to Cook's, hands in my pockets lost in my thoughts about Emily.

It was so easy to forget she was sick.

I forgot.

Maybe she wasn't sick.

I didn't really know anymore. I remember when my great aunt, Tina died. I was little, and she was old.

She had gray hair and a lot of wrinkles. And she always smiled at me, even if I hadn't really done anything great.

I felt like I didn't deserve her smile sometimes, because to me, it was odd.

I could break a vase by mistake and she would still smile and I had no idea why.

She had moved in after dad had left, and I remember how strange it was.

Mum never smiled anymore, and instead, this old lady I had never really known was smiling a lot.

I didn't really get it.

But I didn't really get a lot of things, like why dad wasn't there to smile.

I still don't really get that.

I remember that I started to hang out around Tina more and more, and I kept on forgetting that she was very old, and that she was slowly dying before my eyes.

I kept forgetting that she couldn't see my "impressive" drawings because she was losing her eyesight.

I kept forgetting that she couldn't play with my toys with me because she was losing control of her hands.

And I remember when she started watching me instead of playing with me and when she stopped reading stories to me because she could no longer make out the words on the page.

And I remember when she died and when mum had motioned me into the kitchen after it all happened, telling me that she had left me something.

I was so curious as to what it was, and then my mum pulled out an old necklace.

And I remember feeling conflicting emotions.

I was thankful that I was given something from a woman who was dear to me, but I was kind of confused.

I didn't like jewelry, so why did she give me a necklace?

How could someone I loved so much, not really know me?

And that bothered me for a while, because I had forgotten that she was sick, and that she did not really remember me too well towards the end.

Someone I loved so much didn't really know me.

She had begun to forget me, like an old memory from a ripped photograph in a dusty frame.

I kept forgetting that Emily was sick because she didn't act sick.

And it was so easy to forget that she had cancer.

Or maybe it was because I wanted to forget she had cancer.

I made my way to Cook's house and opened the door.

Cook sat on the couch, Paddy next to him, and their mum was nowhere to be found, like usual.

I plopped down next to him, and he immediately passes me the box of cereal he was eating from, turning up the volume on the TV.

"Aaron, come on down!"

I watched as Drew Carey called down the man apparently named Aaron to guess the price of a grill.

"$299.99," Paddy said.

Paddy had a knack for guessing these things. How he did it, I'll never know.

Aaron, however did not.

He guessed $70, dead serious and with all the confidence in the world.

"The grill's actual price is $299.99!"

Paddy smiled a kind of content, proud grin.

Cook reached into his back pocket and slapped a dollar down into Paddy's hand.

We stayed like this for a bit, until the clock hit 11:30.

"Can we go to the park?" Paddy asked, seven dollars bills in a neat pile in his small hand.

"Sure you little hustler," I said and picked him up, giving him a piggyback as he squealed and Cook opened the door.

I made horse noises, the same noises I had made ever since I was little when Paddy would get a piggyback from me.

Cook walked next to me and we made our way down to the same park that we had eaten ice cream with Emily.

I sat down at the same park bench as Paddy ran ahead, going up to the playground and beginning to climb up the slide, seeing how far he could make it before he would slip and slide all the way down.

Cook reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, offering me one, which I accepted.

"So, you're hanging out with Red again today." He smirked.

"Yeah."

"You like her."

"Of course I do, I wouldn't be hanging out with her if I didn't," I said like it was obvious because it was.

"No, you… like like her."

This was news to me.

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Think about it Naomio. Even I can see it."

"Well, you must be blind then. I don't like Em-"

I was cut off by a loud shriek.

Cook and I both glanced over to the playground where Paddy lay on the ground as some lad a couple years older began hitting his face as another one laughed.

"Oh fuck no," Cook said and he stubbed out his cigarette, launching himself up from the bench and beginning to run as I followed close behind.

Just like Mr. Fitch was protective of his daughters, Cook was protective of Paddy.

The boy never saw it coming, only unlike paper, the boy had eyes.

Cook grabbed the boy on top of Paddy by the back of his shirt and pulled him back, hard. He tumbled backwards as Cook slammed him up against the slide.

The other boy tried to run, but to no avail. I grabbed his arm and pulled him into me, twisting his arm behind his back as Paddy got up from the ground and began to maniacally smile.

Neither Cook or I wanted to hurt these kids, but you have to understand, we were pissed.

"You like beating up my little bro?" Cook asked his fist inches from the boys face as he squirmed.

Cook lowered his fist but stopped it centimeters away from his face.

"Answer me or I will beat the shit out of you!"

The boys were about fourteen or fifteen, I couldn't really tell.

"No. I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me!" He shrieked out.

Cook turned back to me.

"What do you think Naomikins?" He asked me, grinning evilly.

I tightened my grip on the boy's arm, hearing him shriek a bit.

I didn't want to hurt him, but glancing over at Paddy's bloody nose made me want to slam this kid into the ground.

"It's up to Paddy," I said finally.

Cook laughed.

Paddy walked around between the boys, enjoying his new power.

He walked up to the one I was holding. He looked like he was about to forgive him, tell me to let him go.

Instead he brought his foot back and kicked him in the balls.

He fell to his knees and let out a groan as Paddy walked up to the other one and did the same.

I let go of the boy who was now on the ground trying to clutch his balls with his one free hand.

"Hey! Hey! What are you doing? Those are my sons!"

Cook and I looked up to see a large man running at a quick speed towards us.

Maybe we could have stayed and explained, but from where he was, it looked like we were some awful older kids, who just wanted to hurt his sons.

From where we were, it looked like some hulk impersonator wanted to kick our asses.

So what did we do?

We grabbed Paddy and ran.

The hulk impersonator, I'll call him Steve, grumbled loudly and began to chase after us, his two sons in close pursuit.

Paddy was on Cook's back as we cut through the woodland area near the park, crashing into underbrush and getting smacked by branches as the man followed closely behind us.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Cook cried loudly as we jumped over roots.

The man did not give up, running quickly, his sons trying to keep up.

The woodland area suddenly cleared out to reveal a sidewalk, and Cook and I turned left, feet pounding against the pavement, trying to outrun them.

"Get back here!" Hulk 2.0 shouted.

I never understood why people shouted that. Was I supposed to stop because they said that? Just like, oops, sorry sir, you're right, I'll stop running so you can beat the piss out of me.

I mean, really?

We ran, swinging our legs and trying to run faster than we already were, panting and sweating.

The man continued, but was farther and farther behind as he couldn't keep up, and Cook and I were used to running.

If you're friends with James Cook, you're bound to get into some trouble, which warrants being able to run fast.

I start to laugh, even though we aren't completely in the clear.

I think back to Emily, who laughed after producing a hidden bottle of vodka and sitting down with a mischievous look in her eyes.

The man gets farther and farther away until we can't see him at all, and I have a good feeling we're in the clear.

We run anyway though, because we can hear him call out behind us, and we know he's still pissed.

The gruff voice becomes more faded and we stop after cutting into someone's backyard.

We keep quiet for a minute until we can no longer hear his booming voice and break into laughter. It's loud and relieved and nervous, but it just keeps going. We find ourselves doubled over and wheezing, more because of the fear coursing through our bodies than anything else.

We continued until we just got quieter and quieter and were down to a couple of chuckles and coughs.

I examined myself.

My shirt had two large holes on it's front from where the branches had caught it. In those spots I had scrapes, red but not bleeding. My jacket was fine and I looked at Cook and Paddy.

Cook had a cut lip and his shirt was muddy and Paddy was clutching his bloody nose, but was otherwise unscathed.

Our clothes clung to us with sweat and I got the feeling I would need to take a second shower before I went out with Emily.

I pulled out my phone, checking the time.

12:03.

"I don't know about you guys, but I want some fucking ice cream," Cook said and looked at Paddy who nodded enthusiastically as the blood continued to come down from his nose, staining his teeth.

"Jesus Paddy, those little pricks were fucking violent," I said, glancing at him as he continued to wipe at the blood, trying to get it to stop.

"Yeah mate. Listen, if any fuckers mess with you again, just let me know and I'll take care of them. Got it?" Cook asked, picking up Paddy under his arm as he laughed.

"Okay."

"We should probably do something about your nose," I said and stared at it, as if willing the blood to stop.

"I got it!" Cook said and took off his shirt, giving it to Paddy who used it to try and stop the gush of red pouring out of his nose.

We walked to the convenient store, all the while looking around, waiting for the big scary man and his two shitty little sons to pop out.

Nothing.

The same man sat at the counter, giving us disgusted looks that would have made Mr. Dirken proud.

We marched to the back and pulled out whatever we desired: Cook went for the much lusted after fudgesicle, Paddy went over the classic Klondike bar, and I went for the ice cream sandwich.

I smiled as I grabbed it because I remembered the last time I was here, Emily to my left, reaching to grab one, too.

We walked up to the man at the counter.

"You gonna give me the money in pennies and crumpled dollar bills again, kid?"

That was what he said to me. Not hello, not hi. That.

"You gonna remember that specifically because you do not have anything better to do that tease kids who actually have lives, rather than you, who is just a complete and utter fucking asshole."

That was what I wanted to say.

What I did instead was ignore the neatly folded bills mum had given me in my pocket and instead, spend ten minutes digging around in all my pockets while Cook and Paddy did the same, as the man continued giving us dirty looks.

"For fuck's sake, took you long enough," he said after his money had been produced.

We walked around, eating and talking through bites, Paddy's bloody nose having stopped.

We made our way back to Cook's house, where we opened the door and plopped ungracefully onto the couch.

I checked my phone.

2:09.

Paddy went into his room, declaring he was tired and wanted to take a nap.

"You like her, though," Cook said and I immediately knew who he was talking about.

"I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"I don't, Cook."

"Alright… if you're sure."

"I'm positive."

But I wasn't.

Looking back at it, I started to wonder.

I liked spending time with her, just being with her. I thought she was beautiful. I wanted to be around her.

I don't know.

But I decided not to think about it.

I sat back and relaxed, the clock ticking by as effortlessly as our conversation flowed.

I took out my phone again, neurotically checking the time once again.

5:42.

I decided I should go, and bid Cook a quick goodbye, walking out the door and walking quickly back to mine.

I got home and ran up the stairs, shedding my ripped t-shirt and the rest of my clothing and jumping in the shower, trying to hurry.

I let the warm water soothe the cuts I had accumulated today and threw my head back and the gentle sensation that coursed through my body.

I got out and wrapped an old towel tight around my body, looking at myself in the mirror.

I did that odd thing that I think most people usually do when they stare at themselves in the mirror, or that I'd at least like to think that most people do when they look at themselves in the mirror.

I stretched my face around and prodded at it with my curious fingers, poking my cheeks and almost asking myself, "Is that me? Woah… cool."

After a minute of occupying myself idiotically with a mirror and my face, I walked into my room, changing into basically the same thing as before, with just a new shirt, bra, and pair of girly boxers.

I checked the time, 6:17.

I walked down the stairs and out the door, my feet navigating me to Emily's house like they had a mind of their own.

I found myself in front of her bright red door quickly, knocking on the door and expecting another tight hug from Mrs. Fitch, but rather finding Mr. Fitch on the other side.

"Hello Naomi. You're a little bit early, come inside kiddo!" He waved me in and I stuck my hands in my pocket walking in after him.

"Sit down," he said smiling and motioned to the same couch his wife had spent so much time crying on.

I sat down nervously as Mr. Fitch flashed me a very large smile.

This one was not genuine and I was not sure why.

I looked anywhere but him, glancing at pictures that hung neatly on the walls and anything other than Mr. Fitch and his scarily bright white teeth.

"Naomi."

His tone was serious and I glanced at him.

"Yes sir?"

I didn't think calling him rob was a very good idea.

"If you hurt her, I will hunt you down like a dog and they will be finding pieces of your body in rivers across the world."

Well that escalated quickly.

Also, who were they?

I had a flashback of Scotty Renold's black eyes and broken foot.

"This… it's not… it's not a date."

I was sweating more than I was this morning when I ran away from the hulk wannabe.

I guess I was nervous when dealing with big strong men who wanted to beat me up.

"Sure…"

He wasn't convinced and I wasn't entirely sure why.

"Emily! Naomi's here!" He called up the stairs and Emily came hurrying down the stair in jeans and a flowy top.

"Hey," she said and smiled as I sat up and grinned.

"Back by 10:00," Mr. Fitch said and I nodded quickly.

We walked out the door, Emily practically dragging me as we began to walk towards where the carnival was.

I looked over at Emily, and realized how nice she looked.

Her top was pretty and somehow managed to flow and cling to her body and her jeans were tight, and made her ass look really good.

Not that I was looking at her ass.

I wasn't.

I was looking at the… label, yep, the label.

That's what I was doing.

Not staring at her ass.

I did not do that.

That would have been not right to do.

So I did not.

Didn't look at her ass.

Just to be clear.

Her hair flowed down to her shoulders and her smile was illuminating the now darkening sky.

It was bright and genuine and she looked back at me, reaching behind her and grabbing onto my arm, yanking me closer.

She started to move around excited and I smiled, watching as the bright colors of the fair came into view.

"Don't be a slowpoke!" And with that she grabbed my hand, pulling me and starting to run as I followed at her will behind.

"Come on!" She called once again and I hurried up, coming to an abrupt stop as we reached the back of the rapidly moving line.

"What should we do first? Play games? Go on the ferris wheel? Cotton candy? What?" She was practically hopping from one foot to the other, and that's when I looked down and noticed what I hadn't before.

Our hands were still linked, fitting together in an odd, but seemingly familiar way, even though I'm not sure how that's possible.

It felt good.

Like when she laughed at my jokes, or when she kissed my cheek, or when she looked into my eyes and smiled.

I didn't really understand why it felt so good though.

"Money please?" The woman who had a bright smile and tired, but kind eyes said, breaking me from my thoughts as I pulled $20 dollars from my pocket and she pulled out two tickets.

"Two tickets for the cute couple," she grinned.

"Oh… no, we're not a… we're just…" I began to say, but was interrupted by Emily.

"Thank you," she said and grabbed the tickets from the woman and we walked inside.

"Ooh, what should we do first?" She asked and I smiled brightly, but a little confused.

I wasn't really sure why she didn't correct the woman, but I guess it doesn't really matter.

Her stomach rumbled loudly and I laughed.

"I guess we're gonna get some food first."

We walked around, looking for something that sounded good.

Her hand was still attached to mine.

"Here!" She abruptly pulled me to a corndog stand.

The line moved quickly, just like the ticket queue.

"I'll take one corndog please," Emily said and the man handed one to her. She began to take money out of her pocket, but I batted it away, giving him mine instead.

"Go sit down. I'll be there in a second," I said as she smiled and walked off to go claim one of the tables nearby.

I already missed the feeling of her hand in mine.

"Can I have one, actually make that two corndogs please?"

"Of course," the man said and handed me what I asked for.

I maneuvered the money out of my pocket and gave him the bills, awkwardly holding the corndogs as I spotted Emily at a nearby table, already almost done with hers.

I walked over to her and sat down, just as she ate the last bit.

"Thank you for paying, but you shouldn't have. You paid for the tickets!"

"I wanted to."

I did.

I handed her one of the corndogs in my hand and she gave me a confused look, but began to eat it quickly anyways.

"Why'd you get me another one?" She said as I took a bite of mine.

"Oh please. You're Emily! One corndog would never be enough," I said simply.

She looked up into my eyes.

She was giving me an odd look. Like, almost adoration or something.

Why was she looking at me like that?

"How did you know?" She asked softly, but I wasn't sure why.

It was just a corndog.

"It's easy. I remember everything about you. You're middle name is Diane. Your favorite flowers are lilies. You like tea better than coffee but you don't even really like tea, only the cinnamon ones because they remind you of Christmas. Katie is six minutes older than you. The first time you rode a bike you were so proud because you learned before Katie did and she was jealous. Your dad was the one who taught you how to tie your shoes. There's a lot more," I said, taking another bite.

Her look was even stranger.

Were those tears in her eyes?

"Are you okay?" I asked.

Why was she tearing up?

"Yeah… I'm just surprised you remember all that about me," she said and sniffed softly.

"Of course I do," I said simply and took the last bite as she tried her now gone tears.

"You ready?" I asked as we threw the sticks away.

"Yeah!" She smiled.

"Where to first? It is… 6:57… the night is young!"

"I vote for cotton candy."

"Cotton candy it is!" I said and she grabbed my hand again, swinging it back and forth between us.

Minutes later, pink cotton candy was being held in her had as she enthusiastically pulled a piece off, popping it into her mouth.

"Want some?" She said through a mouth full.

"Sure," I laughed and suddenly she shoved a piece into my mouth.

I laughed louder.

We walked around for a little, until she stopped me once again.

"Look at it Naoms," she said.

Naoms? Feeding me? Holding my hand?

What was happening?

And why did I like it so much?

She pointed at a large stuffed dog hanging at one of the game booths.

And now I had a goal.

Just like those stupid old movies.

I wanted to win that stupid stuffed dog for her.

Even if I spent all of the money I had.

I walked up to the booth and the man there already looked way too slick for my liking.

"Five dollars, step right up! All you have to do is knock down the milk jugs! Three balls for five dollars!"

I slapped down five dollars wordlessly and he handed me three balls.

I took the first one and threw it hard, hitting off the top milk jug in the pyramid of six.

I tired again, missing the pyramid barely.

I took a deep breath as Emily watched closely behind.

I missed.

The man grinned.

"Wanna try again?"

I did.

And once again, I couldn't do it. I knocked down 3 of them, I couldn't manage to hit the middle spot.

I tried again.

"Naomi. It's okay," Emily called behind me, but I had a goal.

Emily Fitch would have that stupid fucking stuffed dog.

"Wanna play again?" The man asked and I was getting pissed.

I slapped down another five dollars and he handed he three balls.

The first two were close misses.

I looked behind me and took a deep breath, throwing the last ball, hard.

The jugs toppled over, all of them falling to the ground, making large thuds.

The man looked up surprised.

"Now give me that fucking stuffed dog," I said as Emily squealed excitedly behind me.

The man wordlessly grabbed the huge creature and passed it down to my waiting arms.

I tucked it best I could under my arm and walked over to Emily, smugly handing her the dog as she used her other hand to grab my hand.

I checked the time.

7:23.

I looked over at Emily, who shuddered.

"Are you okay?" I asked as she turned to me.

"Yeah, I just wish I had brought a jacket or something."

I looked at her top again.

Did it look good?

Yes.

Did it keep her warm?

No.

There was obviously something that I needed to do here, I'm just not sure what it is.

The jacket. Give her your jacket Naomi. Wonder Years style.

Jesus I'm stupid.

I slipped my arms out from my army jacket and grabbed the dog from her, positioning it awkwardly between my legs as I draped the jacket over her shoulders.

She smiled warmly and put it on properly.

It was big on her, and I smiled.

I passed her the dog and gingerly grabbed her hand again.

"Where to next, Fitch?"

"I don't know, maybe we should- there!" And once again Emily pulled me abruptly.

This time it was a small face-painting booth that currently sat forgotten like the freezer in the back of the convenience store.

"We have to get out faces painted!"

"No we don't," I said.

"Yes we do!" And with that she pulled me towards the booth, where the young woman inside perked up immediately and flashed a big smile at us.

"Aww, the lovely couple wants their faces painted?"

"Oh no, we're not a couple," I said simply.

"Yeah," Emily said kinda weakly and I glanced over at her.

She looked disappointed almost, but maybe it was because of something else.

It was probably because of something else.

"Alright, which one of you wants to go first?" She asked, breaking the awkward silence that had formed.

"I will," Emily said and sat down in the chair.

"And what do you want?"

"A cat?"

"A cat it is!"

And the woman began to enthusiastically draw on whiskers and a dark nose among other cat things.

"That's a hell of a prize you got there," the woman said while dabbing some more paint onto Emily's face.

"Thanks. Naomi won it. Took her a while," she laughed.

"It didn't take that long," I said defensively.

"How much did you spend Naomi?" Emily asked.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"How much?"

"Twenty dollars," I said quietly.

"How much?"

"Twenty dollars," I said louder.

"Alright, done!" The woman said proudly, too proudly for my liking.

She wasn't bloody Picasso, she painted a fucking cat on someone's face.

"Your turn," Emily said and grabbed my hand, pulling me into the seat.

"Uh, no thanks… I'm… I don't want anything."

"Oh come on Nomi!" Emily pouted and I looked up at her, laughing at the long whiskers that now covered her face.

"A pirate?" I said finally as the woman smiled.

"Coming up matey!"

Matey?

Please, someone use my hook hand to claw at my ears so I didn't have to hear to pirate catchphrases bound to come.

"Argh! Walk the plank!" The woman said giving me a way-too-excited smile.

I heard Emily stifle a laugh.

She continued to dab black paint around my left eye before she ceremoniously released my face and cried out a clichéd, "Voila!"

I looked up at Emily, who smiled toothily and grabbed my hand as I pulled money out of my pocket, giving the woman a tip even though I didn't really want to.

That sounds mean.

She was just aggressively nice.

Is that a thing?

Can that be a thing?

I feel like that's a thing.

Anyways.

Sorry, I get off topic a lot.

We walked around, bright lights flashing everywhere in a beautiful blur.

I looked at rigged games and rides guaranteed to leave your stomach in your throat.

I glanced to my right and saw a large, neon orange sign.

Bumper cars.

I pulled on Emily's hand. The jacket was a bit big on me, so her hand didn't even make it out of the sleeve, just a few fingers poking out.

She had to shove the sleeves back.

She looked over to me.

"Bumper cars?" She asked excitedly as I nodded and pulled her into the queue.

The line mostly consisted of either hormonal teenage boys or the occasional group of girls. And then there would be couples, older than us and making out heavily, practically shoving each other into the railing as the boys watched and whispered among themselves.

"They remind me of my little brother James," Emily whispered in my ear, her warm, unexpected breath perking me up.

"They remind me of my James," I said, thinking back to Cook as Emily laughed.

The line moved forward as Emily rested her head on my shoulder, and once again, I became very aware of just how close in proximity we were.

"Five dollars please," the bored man at the front said as I shoved my right hand into my pocket and dug up a five dollar bill.

This was one of the only times in my life where I didn't have to search all of my pockets to find the exact amount I needed, and I gotta say, it was pretty nice not to have to piss off the person who accepted my money and all the people behind me who were anxiously waiting.

Emily set her dog down in the section where you could leave your possessions when trying to ram your car into others for the sake of fun and violence.

I walked over the slippery surface, bending over my tall frame into a blue car with the number six painted in bright red on the right side.

I watched as Emily positioned herself in a car just a few away from mine and she smirked at me, clearly confident in her abilities to smash my car.

And before I realized what had happened, my car had been rammed by some snotty kid who was now eagerly fleeing and I realized that this "battle" had commenced and shit was about to go down.

I hit the gas and slammed into some unsuspecting perve and backed up quickly ramming into one of the couples.

But neither were my target.

I real target had just slammed into one of the giggling girls whom was in the line with us.

I watched as her red hair whipped around as she drove away, onto her next victim, unsuspecting as I hit the gas petal. Hard.

My car rammed straight into hers and I watched as a look of recognition passed over her features.

"Ohhh, I'm so getting you back Campbell!"

And what did I do?

Did I stand my ground?

Did I challenge her?

No.

I drove away and started fleeing from her like the same snotty kid had done to me.

"Get over here Naomi!"

I continued to drive away, wheeling in and out between the chaos that was happening, the end result being a large cluster fuck of havoc in the middle.

And just as I continued to escape like a five year old in trouble for not eating their vegetables, the ride shut off, and I climbed out as Emily walked over to me, punching me playfully in the shoulder.

I realized for the first time just how cold it was as Emily grabbed her stuffed dog and tucked him under her arm cautiously, like she was afraid of hurting it.

It was bitter and stung as my skin, pricking it unpleasantly.

But I would rather be cold than let Emily feel this terrible sensation.

We continued to walk around, my right hand swinging around without a purpose, just as Emily grabbed it and held it, just as cautiously as she held the big ass prize.

We continued walking around, laughing and pointing out all the different rides and attractions.

I liked it.

Just being with her.

I don't really know where all this is coming from.

But in a way I guess I do.

I've always like spending time with her.

It's not a big deal.

I brought out my phone again, checking the time.

8:57.

"This, this… we have to ride the ferris wheel!" Emily broke me out of my thoughts about time, and how if I got Emily home a minute after ten, my mum would have to start planning a funeral, or some kinda hippie ceremony.

We walked to the back of the long line.

I watched the people who passed by, smiling and laughing and more often than not with small prizes tucked underneath their arms.

The line moved gradually, and the people passed by easily.

All except for one.

She couldn't have been older than nine.

She was asleep in her father's arms as he carried her passed us, her head leaning onto his shoulder as his other strong arm was occupied with holding many large prizes.

She was bald and her skin was sickly pale.

I adverted my eyes, hoping Emily wouldn't follow my eyesight, but I was out of luck. She had spotted the little girl long before I had.

Her eyes watched her and I saw a twinkle of sadness in her eyes.

"She's so young," Emily whispered as the line surged forward and we climbed into a sealed cart, and began to move upward.

"She looked so pale. So sick," she said again and closed her eyes, sniffling and we continued to move towards the sky.

"I'm gonna be like that too…"

I watched as her eyes were pricked with tears and very suddenly things had become very serious and I had no idea what to do.

"She's just so young. So sick."

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I heard a sniffle.

I looked back at Emily after trying to look literally anyway else. I was in silent panic mode.

She was crying, tears falling freely and here I was, some silent, clueless twat who sat next to the girl coming to a very dark realization.

I had managed to forget that Emily was sick, and the worst part was, I think she had forgotten it too.

And now she was reminded.

And boy was she reminded.

I looked down and tried to spot the little girl, and I thought I saw, down far below, and I came to a realization.

Here I was, complaining that I was clueless as to how to deal with Emily crying next to me, while that little girl was fighting cancer.

I was a massive fucking twat.

And a wave of sadness crashed over me.

She was so young.

Emily was so young.

But I don't think it would any better if they were 35 or if they were 67, or if they were 89.

They were always too young.

I would always think of them as too young, no matter their age.

"Oh god."

My attention was suddenly snapped back to the crying girl.

I lifted my arm cautiously, wrapping it around her shoulders and pulling her closer to me as she accepted my gesture completely, clinging to me and wetting my t-shirt with tears, burying her head into her shoulder.

"Emily… Emily…"

Was I supposed to say that it was okay?

Because it wasn't.

It wasn't okay.

It was complete and utter shit.

"Emily. You're gonna… you're gonna kick cancer's ass, alright?"

She laughed a bit, shaky breaths being released into my shoulder.

"I mean, it's not gonna know what's coming. It's just gonna be in for a shit show."

More shaky, unstable laughs.

"You're so fucking strong though, I mean, really, cancer is just in for one hell of a fucking surprise."

The girl who had never cried when everyone around her did was now crying fully and completely and I held her and gently pressed my lips to the stop of her head, trying to soothe her.

But how do you comfort someone?

There was probably a simple answer, but me being me, I didn't know it.

And finally her tears subsided and she removed her head from my shoulder, mascara streaked down her cheeks, the cat whiskers a blurry mess.

"Oh god. I must look like a mess right now," she said unsteadily.

She began to frantically wipe at her face, but I couldn't help but notice how pretty she looked.

I slowly grabbed her hands, putting them to ease, and pulling them down into her lap.

"You look… absolutely stunning," I said completely seriously.

She looked up at me, straight into my eyes, smiling shyly.

"Thank you," she whispered.

She had an odd look on her face.

It was like she wanted me to kiss her or something.

Wait.

Hold on a minute.

Did she want me to kiss her?

No.

There was no way that Emily Fitch would want me, Naomi Campbell, to kiss her.

The ride came to an end and we got off, she instantly sought after my hand, claiming it in her own.

I checked the time again.

9:39.

We walked out of the fair, her clutching her dog tightly.

Why did she look at me like that?

Why did she call me cute, coupley nicknames?

Why did we hold hands?

Why did she feed me?

Why did she always look at my lips?

Why didn't she correct the woman at the entrance?

All these thoughts were coursing through my brain, pestering and pestering me as we walked home in silence.

Here's the thing about silence:

It's a trap.

Cue Star Wars impersonation.

It's uncomfortable and you try to break it, and just make things worse.

It's comfortable and you bask in it, before overthinking it, and feeling the need to talk, and making things uncomfortable in the process.

And so as we walked in silence, I felt the need to break it.

"So what do we name it?" I blurted out.

"What?" Emily looked over to me, confused.

"The dog. What do you want to name it?"

Stupid choice of conversation Naomi.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Emily seemed to be lost in her thoughts about possible names.

"What about Carny, you know, for carnival?" She said finally.

I smiled brightly.

"I think it's perfect."

We continued to walk back, her face still a mess, but somehow incredibly beautiful.

We reached her doorstep and I checked the time.

9:48

No black eyes or broken bones for me.

"I had a really good time tonight," Emily said, as she took off my army jacket and passed it back to me.

"Me too."

I put my jacket back on and looked at her.

She still had that look on her face.

Did she want me to?

Maybe I should.

Do it Naomi.

Just kiss her.

Just do it.

Don't be a fucking chicken, kiss her!

"Um, so… I'll see you on Monday," I said and couldn't help but notice how she instantly looked sadder and kind of disappointed.

"Yeah," she said softly and I turned around beginning to walk away.

Kiss her.

Kiss her.

Kiss her!

Kiss her!

In life, there are only so many opportunities.

Eventually, you will be given one, and if you do not take it, sometimes it will haunt you.

Sometimes all you need is to say fuck it.

How many times in life will I be presented the opportunity to kiss Emily Fitch, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen?

I wasn't about to find out.

I turned around and walked back quickly.

"Emily!"

She turned around from where she was about to open the door.

"Are you okay?" She asked, but I didn't respond.

I cupped her paint-stained face in my hands, and kissed her.

Her lips were gentle and she responded immediately, her lips moving and her hands pulling at my collar, trying to move me closer to her.

I moved my hands down to her hips and deepened the kiss, swiping my tongue against her bottom lip ever so gently, asking for permission, which was granted very quickly.

Her tongue brushed softly against mine, and I heard a small, husky moan.

We pulled away, her hands still bunched, gripping my collar, and my hands still on her hips.

Carny was on the ground, forgotten for the moment.

"Woah," I breathed out, and immediately felt incredibly dorky.

She smiled, brightly, rivaling all the stars in the sky combined.

"I was wondering when you would do that, you space cadet."

Her face was slightly more smudged, my pirate paint obviously having smeared off on her a bit.

She picked up Carny and opened the door, waving to me as I stood on her doorstep, not entirely sure what had just happened. I felt dizzy, from the top of my head to my toes.

"Woah," I said again.

I just snogged Emily Fitch.

Her lips were on mine.

She wanted me to kiss her.

I smiled a large, kind of crazy smile and ran into the street, jumping up and down kinda cheesily.

I was kinda dancing and kinda jumping, running down the street, smiling.

I made it back to my house quickly, running straight there and hoping the door easily, practically jumping up the stairs.

I made it to my room, kicking off my shoes, and taking off my jacket.

I took off my shirt and bra and jeans, and threw another shirt back on, climbing into bed, and staring straight above at the ceiling, and still smiling.

I tried to shut my eyes, but it was no use, I was just too excited.

And when my eyelids finally did droop, my last thoughts were of Emily and how soft her lips where when they were against mine.

 **Hope you enjoyed it! Next chapter will be posted on Tuesday or Wednesday, but most likely Tuesday. Let me know what you thought.**

 **Thank you so much for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hi. Thank you for reviewing, favoriting, following, or reading this story. I really appreciate it. I'm currently working on the tenth chapter of this story. School starts soon for me, but I will continue to update quickly because I work on this story almost every night.**

 **So now, I present to you, chapter 5.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 5:**

The next morning was like waking up with a hangover, head thumping and trying to figure out what exactly had happened the night before.

Her lips.

I smiled again.

It couldn't have been a dream right?

The whole carnival and kiss.

What a cruel prank that would be?

What if it was a dream?

I looked down at my pillowcase and saw all this face paint smudged into it and I calmed down.

It had happened.

I grabbed my phone from my bedside table.

9:57.

I saw that I had a text from Cook.

"How'd it go last night Blondie?"

I smiled and walked into the bathroom, showering and then getting changed.

I dashed downstairs where mum sat at the dining table, sipping on coffee and reading the paper.

I quickly walked to her, slapped down the remaining money from last night, kissed her cheek, and was out the door before she could ask me any questions about how last night was.

I found myself at Cook's house before I even realized it, and opened the door, finding Cook and Paddy in the same positions as before.

Paddy's nose was bruised, and I grimaced at remembering the events of yesterday at the park.

Cook was at eating cereal.

"Naomio!"

I sat down next to him.

"You missed out last night mate, there was this girl, with like, fucking tip top jugs, just right in your face. Holy shit! Pretty good shag too if you ask me. Should have heard her moan."

That was already way too much information.

Paddy was unfazed, instead he was intently watching nameless cartoons on the screen.

"What about you? How's Emily in the sack?"

My eyes widened.

"For Christ's sake Cook, we didn't shag."

But we did kiss.

"Alright, alright. How was it though?"

"It was cool. We may have… kissed," I said quietly, hoping it would fall on deaf ears.

"Come again?"

"We kissed."

Cook gave me a shit-eating grin and slapped me on the shoulder.

"Atta girl! Tell me more."

"Her dad was scary. The fair was fun. I kissed her on her doorstep. That's pretty much the summary."

"Details Naomikins! Details."

"She wore jeans?"

"For fuck's sake! How was the kiss?"

"Oh! She has really soft lips and… it was, really, really good."

"Did you cop a feel?"

"What? No!"

He laughed, shaking his head as I swatted at him.

"Just asking Blondie."

We sat and continued to watch the cartoons, time ticking by seamlessly.

Before I knew it, it was dark out, and I still had homework at home.

I walked home and into my room, where I tried to tackle all the homework left until last minute.

Sitting at my desk, I easily got distracted.

It felt so good to win that damn dog for Emily.

I needed to find those movies.

15 movies.

How hard could it be?

I finished my remaining homework, and grabbed my computer.

I took out my list from where it sat semi-forgotten on my desk and unfolded it carefully.

An August Rain

The Incredible Adventures of Charles the Dog

Guilty of the Following

Vast Blue Ocean

Sea of Thoughts

A Quarrel in Paradise

Peering Off the Edge

Eying the Stranger

Lighting the Sky

Passion in Paradise

A New King

Heart of Silver

Sinking Ship

Orange Delusional

And finally, Emily's favorite. The one about the man and woman deeply in love…

Night of Love

I started Googleing.

Old movie stores.

Places to buy old movies.

Shop with old movies.

I continued to type in different variations until I finally found something.

An hour away from my house there was a small shop going out of business, known for sometimes selling old movies.

I quickly wrote down the name and it's address, slowly forming a plan in my mind so I could get those fucking movies to Emily to make her happy.

It was like the jacket.

I was cold, but I would rather have Emily be warm.

This would stress me the fuck out, but I would rather make Emily happy.

I went to bed, the plan growing and spreading and crying out to become real.

Monday hits hard, like a pillowcase full of bricks and the stale bread that was always served at Thanksgiving at my house.

Emily.

I would see her today.

What happens now?

Do I ask her on a date?

Are we dating?

Did she regret it?

No… did she?

I would just avoid her. If I avoided her, then I wouldn't have to deal with what happens now.

Perfect plan!

I got ready and walked out the door to the bus stop, waiting for the bus to pull up.

The bus rolled up slowly, and the bus driver already frowned at me, despite the fact that I hadn't actually fucked anything up.

Cook was in the back like usual, and I sat next to him as he slung his arm around my shoulders.

"Cook. I have good news."

"Spill."

"I found a place that sells old movies."

He smiled and threw his head back.

"That's fucking ace Naomikins! Where is it?"

I told him the location.

"Innit an hour away or something?" He scratched his head.

"Yeah…"

"How we gonna get there?"

"Bus…"

"Don't know how many buses run over there."

"Car?"

"You got a car? That's fucking mint! I thought your mum's was in the shop."

"Your mum's car?"

He paused.

"So you don't have a car. She'll probably kill me… nah she'll be too drunk to notice. Let's do it."

There was a bit of sadness when he said that his mum would be too drunk to notice, but I knew he didn't want to talk about it, so I avoided it.

"Thanks Cook! You're the best, mate."

"I know Naomio."

He paused again. Also, that rhymed.

"Naomio. Romeo. Ha! Naomio is like Romeo. Speaking of that, what are you gonna do about your Juliet?"

"I don't know."

The bus stopped at school and we all got off, getting annoyed grunts from the bus driver.

He had a name, but he was always a dick to me, so I'm just gonna call him the bus driver.

That's my revenge.

Not very much, it must make me seem like one of those people who got vengeance on others by not cutting the crust off someone's sandwich.

We out to where lunch tables were, and immediately Cook nudged me.

"Innit that Emily?"

He pointed at a girl with bright red head.

"Yeah, I think so," I said, squinting, trying to get a better look.

She turned her head over to where we stood, and I ducked behind a trash can, Cook looking at me like I was mental, but hid behind it with me all the same.

"What the fuck are we doing?"

"Hiding."

"No, yeah, I got that much. Are we playing hide and seek or something?"

I rolled my eyes.

"If Emily sees me then I have to talk to her, and if I talk to her, I will either fuck everything up, or stand there awkwardly."

"Don't be a pussy, ask her out."

"What? Are you crazy? She's not gonna say yes. She probably regrets the kiss."

He face-palmed.

Cook, who once asked me if I thought it would be possible for him to ride in a kangaroo's pouch after he watched Kangaroo Jack, just thought that I was ridiculous. So ridiculous that he just had to face-palm.

"You're asking her."

"What? I just said that we are gonna avoid her until further notice," I said and looked at him like he was crazy, because he was.

What the fuck was he playing at?

He sprung up like a flower in April.

Fuck.

That was a cheesy as fuck metaphor.

That was awful.

Wait.

That's not even a fucking metaphor.

It's a simile.

Thank you Mr. Dirken for teaching me that distinct and most important difference.

This is sarcasm.

"Cook, get the fuck down, she's gonna see you!" I shouted whispered.

That's an oxymoron.

He started to stroll, yes, that motherfucker started to stroll, towards Emily.

"Cook! Cook! For fuck's sake Cook!"

Whether he didn't hear me or heard me and just chose to ignore me is unknown, I'm betting on the latter though.

He continued to walk closer to where she, Katie, and her friends sat.

"Excuse me, I-," Cook started to say, but didn't get a chance to finish.

I tackled him to the ground and we began rolling around on the grass, trying to pin the other one down.

This wasn't the first time this had happened, sometimes he was like a brother.

He was laughing and I tried to gain the upper hand, but I'm lanky, like I've mentioned God knows how many times before, and Cook is a lot stronger.

"Naomi? Cook?" I heard a husky voice.

I got distracted and looked in the direction from which it came from.

Cook used this to his advantage.

He pinned me down and sat on me.

"You done?" He asked, panting a bit.

"Yeah," I said begrudgingly.

He pulled me up and slapped my back playfully, removing grass from my hair and laughing.

"Naoms? What are you doing?" Emily said again and I looked over to see Emily walking over to us while Katie and her friends all seemed to be annoyed with us.

"Naoms? Ha… already got coupley nicknames and everything. You're well on your way to being whipped," Cook whispered and I elbowed him sharply in the stomach.

"Nomi?" Emily was now very close.

I laughed kinda sheepishly and rubbed the back of my neck.

"What are you two doing?"

Cook stifled a laugh in the background.

"We're just, wrestling… and stuff," I said.

"Why?"

"Um… I, uh… I said that wrestling is fake, and Cook said it's not, and wanted to prove just how real it is," I replied, a lie popping in my head, and I wondered how of all the things I could have said, I said that.

Emily laughed.

"And what do you think now?"

"Oh, it's still bullshit."

She laughed loudly.

"Naomio just wanted to ask you something, didn't you 'Nomi'?" Cook said grinning like a Cheshire cat.

I craned my neck, long blonde hair whipping to the side as I looked at him.

"What did you want to ask me Naomi?" Emily said softly, and I turned my head again.

A date.

Ask her on a date.

Just do it.

"Do… do… do you think we have a sub in politics today?"

If there were an audience, like some kinda Disney show with laugh tracks, they would have all groaned very loudly now.

Cook groaned, and face-palmed.

For fuck's sake, he once asked me if I thought that the movie The Birds was based on a true story.

Emily's smile faltered, but it was brief, blink and you might have missed the way her eyes sunk a bit and her shoulders heave and drop like she was disappointed in me.

"No, I think we won't have a sub. Stuck with the same old teacher," she laughed, but it wasn't genuine.

It was that polite laughter that can be heard at a dinner party with stuck up guests who drink fancy wine and wear expensive suits and drive fancy cars.

Cook coughed loudly.

"And… uh…" I started to stutter.

"And?" Emily was looking at me like a five year old crying hysterically trying to complain that some kid had just taken my toy.

I shut my eyes like the next words might hurt me, because depending on the response I got, they might just do that.

" Adatewithme," I rushed out.

"What?" Emily said encouragingly.

"Would you… like to…"

"Would I like to what?"

Bloody hell Naomi, this wasn't fucking charades, ask Emily on a date.

"Would you like to… go on a… social arrangement with me, in which… we might hold hands… and possibly kiss?"

That was one of the worst ways that I could have phrased that.

"A date?"

"Some might call this, particular… social arrangement that, yes."

"Yes."

"It's okay if you say no."

"Yes."

"No really, it's alright."

"Yes!"

"It was the kiss wasn't it? I'm a shit kisser, huh?"

"You're a great kisser. And yes I want to go on a date you space cadet!"

"Really Emily, it's okay."

"For fuck's sake… yes!"

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, that's a relief," I breathed out.

And then I realized something.

I am going on a date with Emily Fitch.

 _The_ Emily Fitch.

The girl with the pretty long red hair and chocolate eyes. The girl with a beautiful smile and a laughter that sounds better than anything else. The girl who's mouth tasted of the sweetest thing and something distinctly Emily.

The girl with cancer.

But I will forget about that last part, because I don't want to think about it.

And I will not think about it there is yet another painful reminder and I find myself with a lump in my throat.

I smiled brightly, and continued to look at Emily like an idiot while she went back to sit with her friends before school started, and Cook hit my back playfully.

"She's like… gaggin for it and shit."

That was his way of saying that he thought that Emily really liked me and that we would make a great couple.

Or that she was waiting desperately for me to shag her.

It's probably the latter.

But I would like to think it's the former.

The bell rings and I walk to Mr. Dirken's class.

I take my seat and watch as he sits down in his chair.

"Today we are learning about… blah… blah, blah… blah… blah blah."

If you can't tell, the blahs indicate that I am no longer listening to Mr. Dirken, only barely watching as he writes some fancy words on the whiteboard and begins to point at them desperately.

"This is the… blah… blah… blah."

The bell rings and I realize that I have barely taken any notes.

Fine with me.

Mrs. Incart was sitting at her desk, crying hysterically, and her "water" smelled a hell of a lot like something else.

Why the hell no one had said the maybe this wasn't okay, I hadn't the slightest idea.

She lifted her head up, mascara streaked down her face, but not pretty like Emily's.

It was crazy.

Her hair was in knots and she had snot coming out of her nose.

"Sometimes, you… little children, you… kiddies, people… people… don't want you… anymore. Sometime… fucking, sometimes… they want your bitchy neighbor," she slurred and grabbed her water bottle, tilting her head back and taking a huge gulp.

"Fucking Tiffany. What's so special about… fucking Tiffany?"

I didn't know Tiffany, so I could not tell Mrs. Incart what was so special about her.

"… I heard she gave her nineteen year old pool cleaner head…"

This was supposed to be some kinda, "haha, you're not so great" moment, but the whole thing just felt really fucking sad.

"My husband… fucking Jerry. He just… he was fucking _Tiffany._ Can you believe it?"

Can I believe that he was fucking Tiffany?

Tiffany of all fucking people?

Probably, because I didn't know any of these fucking people, so I will assume that they all have a giant block party orgy.

Because at this point, that seems pretty plausible.

"So… I told him, I said, 'Jerry. I'm keeping the cats! You… you gotta leave the fucking house.'"

Yep, she showed him.

Her phone text.

"Hold on. I… got… a text on… on my cellular… uh… what's the word? Oh… ha… it's phone."

And with that she grabbed it.

"Guys… guys… it's okay. Jerry says… he says sorry. He said… said that the first… two, no three... times didn't mean anything. The rest… were accidents."

What a romantic, huh?

I really do sincerely hope that for Mrs. Incart's sake, she finds someone better, someone who doesn't fuck Tiffany more than three times. If it were once, and he did it for different reasons, maybe then. But it wasn't like that.

The bell rung and Mrs. Incart waved her hand dismissively, staring at her phone and laughing at something Jerry probably said.

The day passed uneventfully.

At lunch, I was sat in the library watching a video of a guy trying to jet sky, spoiler, he didn't do it very well.

And I went off to the rest of my classes.

Politics was interesting though.

Mum was always very into things like this, protests and rallies, and standing up for the little guy, who could never find his voice. Animal rights and no war.

I liked politics as a result of being raised in a house where hippies where flowing.

Dad was always a bit more toned down than mum.

When he left, and after my great aunt Tina, and after mum started smiling again, hippie hell broke lose.

Kinda.

I was woken up almost every Saturday for a protest.

The number of protest t-shirts I have is scary.

So is the number of picket fences.

And the number of flower crowns I have made.

Or all the times I tried to pawn off my hippie food at lunch.

Not that life with dad was that toned down.

Most of my baby photos involve me with either no shirt, or no clothes at all.

But, I'm getting off topic.

Things like animal rights and peace and all that are pretty much everything in my house.

But that's not why politics was interesting today.

It was interesting because as I sat in the back, listening to the class, writing down notes and shit, I kept on catching someone looking at me.

A certain redhead.

If you are waiting for something really interesting to happen right now, like I overturn a desk and make out with her passionately while my politics teacher stares, you will be sourly disappointed.

It's that she kept on glancing back at me.

No one really stole glances of me.

And this is not desperate ploy for you to feel bad for me or tell me how I must be wrong, because I have never actually cared.

I'm just Naomi, though. I'm your friend, Naomi. Not, your crush Naomi.

And that has always suited me just fine, so finding her continuing to sneak glances was strange, but also not the first time she had done this.

But anyways.

I'm sure you probably don't want to hear about that.

The final bell rung of the day and Cook and I got on the bus working out a game plan.

We would go to his house, make sure his mum was well passed out, grab the keys, and go.

And so that's exactly what we did.

Except there was one problem.

One small problem.

His name was Paddy.

And though I loved him 'cause he's like my little brother, he can be a little bit stubborn sometimes.

I think he got that from all the years with me.

But anyways.

Cook's mum was passed out in her bed with a bottle of red and her newest boy toy.

Her keys on the table.

We were about to leave, Paddy in his room, napping.

But of course he woke up.

"Where are you guys going?" He asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"On… an… adventure," Cook said, which was a terrible thing to say to Paddy, who was now bright and alert.

Might as well of told him we were going into space to solve crimes with falcons for sidekicks.

"A really, really boring adventure," I said, hoping Paddy would go back to bed.

"For adults," Cook added.

"Can I come too, please? I don't want to be with mum and that guy that smells strange by myself?"

How can you say no to Paddy?

Answer: You can't.

So we all got into Cook's mum's car, and started to drive, Paddy eagerly jumping around in the back.

"We're going on an adventure! Going on an adventure!" He sang out.

After a bit he stopped.

"What do boobs feel like?"

And then he started again.

Cook began hollering, which was not good for us considering the fact that he was driving.

"Like fucking heaven!" Cook laughed out. "But Blondie here wouldn't know."

Cook was right, I was not equipped for this question, considering the fact that I had never seen or touched someone's boobs.

Not that stuff like that really mattered.

But I wanted to know badly.

I rolled my eyes.

"Pretty sure I have a pair."

"Don't count, Blondie. Tell me about a pair you've seen in real life."

I was silent.

Cook laughed.

"Shut it," I said and we continued driving, turning up the radio.

"Are we almost there?" Paddy asked.

It was kinda cute, or at least it would be if this wasn't the fourth time he asked it.

"Ten more minutes mate," I said.

And sure enough, ten minutes later, we parked in front of a small store with packed boxes and a large sign saying, "Closing down sale! Everything 50% off!"

Cook, Paddy, and I walked into the tiny store, a small bell ringing.

A woman at the desk looked up eagerly, like some kinda animal at feeding time.

"Customers! Haven't seen those in a while!" She smiled.

I walked up to her desk where she was flipping through some fashion magazine and took out the list from my pocket, unfolding it and turning it towards her.

"Hi, I was wondering if you would happen to have any of these movies."

"Oh, dear, I don't really know. I do know for a fact that they would be in one of these boxes though." She gestured apologetically to five, large boxes on the ground.

"This is a shit adventure," Paddy groaned.

Yep, it is mate.

Cook sat down at one box, Paddy at another, and I sat at the biggest one.

I tried to go fast, but not too fast or I would miss something and want to crush my head between to of these giant fucking boxes.

Eventually, I got a rhythm down.

I was about halfway through the box, when I stopped.

The cover has a big black background, and in the center is a large, silver heart.

In silver writer underneath, it clearly read Heart of Silver.

I blinked.

Did I actually just find one?

"Guys."

Paddy and Cook turn their heads towards me.

"What?"

I hold up the DVD case proudly.

"Fucking ace Naomikins!" Cook shouts.

I put it to the side and fish out my list from my pocket.

I stand up, my legs feeling numb from being in that position for so long,

I walk up to the desk.

"May I borrow a pen?" I ask and she hands me one instantly and I unfold my list again, going down the list and crossing off my discovery proudly.

"Naomi?" Paddy says

"Hold on mate," I say, folding my list back up.

"Naomi?"

"Just give me a second Paddy cakes."

"Naomi?"

I sigh.

"Yeah mate?"

He passes me a DVD where the cover is a cliff.

Peering Off the Edge.

"Paddy! This is awesome!" I say, crushing him in a hug.

I unfold my paper and cross it off the list ceremoniously.

I sit back down and almost like magic I find another.

It was the one with the man's eyes who looked guilty, the same one I had accused of being a constipated fucker all that time ago in Emily's room.

Guilty of the Following.

I put it down with the other two and cross it off my list.

An August Rain

The Incredible Adventures of Charles the Dog

Guilty of the Following

Vast Blue Ocean

Sea of Thoughts

A Quarrel in Paradise

Peering Off the Edge

Eying the Stranger

Lighting the Sky

Passion in Paradise

A New King

Heart of Silver

Sinking Ship

Orange Delusional

Night of Love

We were getting a rhythm down.

It won't take long until we find all of them.

Unfortunately I was wrong.

I had gone through my entire box and not found anything other than new releases.

I guess it turns out that this place didn't sell that many old movies.

Paddy managed to finish going through his box, however by the time he was done he groaned and lied back on the ground, closing his eyes and falling asleep.

Paddy is always fucking tired.

I grabbed a second box and began sorting through it, desperate to find something else.

I was losing hope.

Cook finished his box, nothing useful being found.

I continued sorting through it, desperation increasing as I reached the halfway point with nothing new.

"Blondie! I fucking got one!" Cook howled and I twisted my head sharply, almost gave myself fucking whiplash.

He held up Sea of Thoughts with a cocky grin and I lunged forward, hugging him tightly and grabbing the case, putting it with the others and crossing it off the list.

I finished up my box with no new discoveries.

I grabbed the third and began going through it quickly.

Cook finished his with nothing new.

"Come on, come on, come on," I muttered to myself as I started to reach the last few cases in the pile.

I grabbed the second to last one and smiled largely.

It was Sinking Ship.

Five in one day.

What were the odds of that?

I had already gotten a third of my list, however I had a feeling that the others wouldn't come quite as easily.

We got back into the car, me quickly paying the woman and thanking her, giving her a large tip because I felt so bad about her store and I felt really good about finding a bunch of the movies.

Paddy was sleeping in the back as Cook dropped me off at my house.

"Thanks Cook. For everything," I said genuinely.

He smiled.

"No problemo Naomio."

I shut the door of the car and made my way upstairs, depositing the bag with the movies on my desk.

Dinner is quiet and I do my homework quicker than I thought I would.

I lay in bed that night, hand folded beneath my head, and think about Emily, and how brightly she would smile when she saw the movies.

Maybe she would be so happy that she cried a bit, or maybe she would laugh in such happiness and surprise.

Maybe everything would be okay if she had those movies.

Maybe the cancer would go away, and she wouldn't think about how young she was, and everyone would stop crying.

Maybe.

 **So there we go! Next chapter will be up either Thursday or Friday, probably Friday, but maybe Thursday. Hope you like this. Let me know what you thought.**

 **Also, quick note of no importance really, like you can stop reading if you want, it has nothing to do with the story, I promise.**

 **There's a song called You Always Hurt the One You Love by the Mills Brothers. I'm not mentioning it because I'm listening to it, but in the movie Blue Valentine, which I just saw and was tremendously sad, Ryan Gosling sings it on his ukulele.**

 **I have no idea why, but I feel like it would be something Naomi would sing to Emily, well… maybe not because I don't know if Naomi would do something like that, but I feel like the song lyrics would kinda go with her.**

 **Hell, JJ could be her wingman and play the ukulele when he's done with the baby. (Sidenote, I found that whole entire episode really bizarre and kinda unnecessary, but that's just me.)**

 **What the hell is happening? I'm sorry, it's late and I'm tired, so I don't know why I just went into this long thing about this thing.**

 **I'm sorry.**

 **Anyways. Let me know what you thought.**

 **Next chapter involves a Naomily date.**


	6. Chapter 6

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hello again! So, here is the next chapter. I am still on chapter 10, but I will finish it today. Thanks again for reviewing and reading! It always puts a smile on my face.**

 **So here we go!**

 **Chapter 6:**

"Five more minutes," I groan out to no one as my alarm decides to be helpful and rings out.

For fuck's sake.

I never know whether of not to set an alarm.

Not setting one makes me late, setting one makes me want to claw my ears off.

Today I chose the latter.

I already fucking regretted it.

I got ready and ran down the stairs, somehow already kinda late.

The bus was starting to pull away by the time I jumped in.

"For fuck's sake," the bus driver bitch muttered.

I joined Cook in the back and watched the trees and houses rush passed us.

Everything whizzing by, rushing out of sight, one blur of color.

I got off the bus with Cook and he started to walk towards a group of popular, beauty girls.

"I'm gonna see if I can get a shag in before school starts. What are you gonna do?" He asked.

"I'll probably just walk around and shit."

I watched as he confidently walked into the large group, smirking, eying up the one with the biggest tits, rubbing his hands together like he would when he went after the stoners.

I walked to the field, watching as Theo Matework and Max Hubrix were passing a soccer ball.

"Hey Naomi," Theo said and passed the ball over to me.

My soccer skills were pretty average, so we passed for a bit, as Max rambled on about something, I think it was something about his girlfriend and condoms and something.

"Oh shit, I should probably go," I said and they waved bye, continuing to pass the soccer ball.

I walked back to the campus, passing by the bleachers where the some of the stoners waved to me.

I walked quickly, because we all knew what happened under the bleachers before school.

Sex.

Sex happens under the bleachers.

I walked to where a math nerd, Dan Rewert squatted down, picking up a math book and notes that had fallen from his hands.

I bent down and helped him out.

"Hi Naomi. I'm just studying for a quiz, not that I didn't already study, I just want to be extra prepared. Especially if there is any extra credit."

"I know how you feel, mate," I said, handing him some of the notes I had collected.

He smiled and then he was on his way.

"Hey."

I heard a husky voice to my right.

I whipped around quickly, almost losing balance and falling.

"Hey."

She had a cute bow on her head and she was blushing, a pink tinge staining her cheeks.

"You alright there?" She laughed.

"I think so."

"So…"

"What?" I asked, not really sure where she was going.

"Our date?"

"Oh yeah! That! What about it? Do you want to cancel it? Oh shit, you want to cancel it don't you? Fuck. I was being stupid wasn't I? How could I have expected you to like me, I mean, you're… Emily Fitch. Shit. Shit. I'm sorry. Jesus, how stupid can I-"

She pressed her lips to mine and I forgot completely about my rant.

She pulled away, smiling.

"So, you still want to go on the date? Either that or I am seriously bad at reading signals."

"Of course I want to go, Naomi."

"Then why did you want to ask me about it?"

"We don't exactly have a plan do we?"

"…No…"

"Exactly."

"So… I'll… pick you up at…"

"Six."

"On…"

"Friday."

"Okay."

"Well we got that settled. Walk me to class?" She looked up at me and I drowned in her warm chocolate eyes.

"Y-yeah."

She began walking to her history class, carrying her heavy textbooks and talking about how Katie and her brother got in an argument last night because he stole her dress and ruined it.

I looked around and saw guys following girls who were out of their league and carrying their books, desperate to get a date with them.

I reached over and picked up Emily's books from her grasp, surprising her a bit.

"I got them," I said, holding them as we continued walking down the packed hall.

I figured I was kinda one of them, with this beautiful girl who was _way_ out of my league.

"So…" She said, stopping right by the door of her class.

"So…"

"This is me."

"Okay."

She stared at me expectantly.

"Oh shit your books!" I said, handing them back to her as it hit me why she was looking at me.

She laughed.

"Thank you… for carrying them."

She kissed my cheek.

"I'll see you later?"

"Yeah."

I walk to my English class, where not even Mr. Dirken's ranting and annoyed looks can wipe the smiling off my face.

I've got a date with Emily Fitch.

I got to kiss Emily Fitch.

I got to walk Emily Fitch to class.

And it is right in the middle of my silent celebration that a silent panic sets in.

What was I supposed to do now?

No date had ever been not awkward, or like really that enjoyable.

I'm gonna fuck this up.

And then I won't have dates with Emily Fitch.

And I won't get to kiss Emily Fitch.

And I won't get to walk Emily Fitch to class.

Oh fuckity fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck me fuck fuck shit wanky bollocky shit-

"Miss Campbell, what do you think of this?"

I look up from the notebook at which I was staring so intently at and look at the board.

Oxford commas.

I KNOW THIS ONE.

"Oxford commas can completely change a sentence's meaning."

"Very good, Miss Campbell," he says, but he doesn't really seem enthused.

If he had asked he literally anything else, I would have been screwed.

No, but really.

The bell rung and I continued my silent panic as I wandered through the hall to Mrs. Incart's class.

She sat at her desk today, not crying, but instead smiling.

"Hello kiddies! What do you guys think of my new ring? Jerry bought it for me."

She proceeded to show off her very large, flashy ring.

I zoned out as she said something about Jerry and shit.

Probably that they're deeply in love.

But you can see the pain and fear in her eyes.

The way they plead and beg with you to tell her that they love each other.

I decide to stop looking at her eyes, and start looking at my notebook instead, that way I don't have to think about how the only reason she caked so much make up on is because she's tired, she's defeated, she's sad.

The day continues, and I find myself sitting next to Cook, still in a silent panic.

"You okay Naomio?" He turns to look at me when he realizes I'm not laughing hysterically at the movie playing on my phone.

"I don't know what to do on my date with Emily. I always fuck up my dates."

He seems to be lost in thought for a moment.

"But what about that one date with Helen?"

"I almost threw up because I had gotten food poisoning."

"The one with that one bird… Kristen?"

"She got a call that her cat died halfway through the date and left before I could even try to comfort her."

"Cynthia?"

"I made out with her and then she went outside and threw up. Apparently she had the flu. I was sick for a week."

"Oh yeah. All those things did happen," Cook says, finally remembering.

"So, where should I take her?"

I can hear the gears in his head grinding until he snaps his fingers and gives me a look that screams, "This idiot is a genius."

"Mini-golfing. You can wrap your arms around her and show her how it's done."

"Yeah! That's a good idea."

"And then you can grind up on her from behind."

"… Well, you've ruined mini-golfing."

"Sorry, I don't really do dating."

"Fuck it, I'll figure something out."

The week goes by, and I spend my days at Cook's house.

I don't visit Emily, because I feel like things would be weird if I saw her before our date, but that doesn't really make sense because I walked her to class on Wednesday and I say hi to her in the halls.

It's Friday, and I'm sat in my last class, gripping my pen, waiting for the bell to ring out so I can be free for the weekend.

I had finally decided on a date, but I had been practically ripping my hair out going mad trying to figure what it would be.

It would be at a park I found about 30 minutes away from my house, where they played movies on Fridays. I thought that we could have a picnic (with good food, not shitty stuff mum makes).

And then the bell rung and I practically flung up from my seat, packing my stuff and rushing out, desperate to get the hell away from class.

I climb into the bus and watch as Cook jumps on and sits next to me, smiling.

"So today's the day then?" He smirks.

Cook knows I've been shitting my pants worrying about this date.

"Yep," I said, popping the p.

The bus drops me off and I run upstairs, looking at the time on my phone.

3:24

Okay.

I had to pick up Emily at 6:00.

That gives me two hours and thirty-six minutes.

I plan out an outfit, which is basically the same thing I always wear only with a button up shirt.

I couldn't do fancy if I tried.

3:56.

How the fuck is time passing so fucking fast?

Okay.

Calm, Naomi.

Calm down.

I take a shower, thinking that it would be a good idea, but I'm not really sure why.

I think it's just something that people do.

Or maybe it's just something do.

I don't really know anymore.

I get out of the shower and take a look at the time.

4:25.

I take a deep breath.

Calm down.

I dry my hair, the hot air hitting my back and my neck.

I brush it out and apply a bit of make up like I always do.

It really might as well have been no make up, because I pretty much look exactly the same.

I go into my room and get dressed.

5:03.

Okay.

57 minutes until I go pick her up.

I can do this.

I pick up a book I'm supposed to be reading, and try to get through it, but I'm too distracted and I end up reading the same paragraph a stupid amount of times.

5:34.

26 minutes until I pick her up.

I start to pace, yes pace, around the room, going over what to say.

"Hey Emily! How's it going?"

"No."

"'Sup Ems?"

"Definitely no."

"How's it hanging?"

"Fuck no. She's not a fucking monkey. She's not hanging from anything."

5:47.

13 minutes.

I decide to stop slowly torturing myself and go downstairs, where the picnic basket and mum's car keys are waiting for me.

I grab a blanket and walk outside.

I get into the car, putting the basket in the trunk and driving to Emily's.

I pull up three minutes later.

I think that I should just sit in the car, that way I don't have to sit in an awkward silence with Mr. Fitch as he silently threatens me with his eyes and not so silently threatens me with his mouth.

But part of it feels odd to just sit outside in my mum's car waiting as the time ticks by, and I decide that I will have to go inside sometime, so I do.

I walk up to the red door, and part of me almost wants to see Mrs. Fitch instead of her husband, but then again from what I've heard, she can be a right bitch sometimes.

Mr. Fitch answers the door in a tight t-shirt and sweatpants. He's smiling, but I know that that doesn't mean shit, because at one point he may have smiled at Scotty Renold, and look what happened to him.

He was using crutches for three months.

"Kiddo, why don't you come inside?"

I walk to my impending doom.

"Thank you Mr. Fitch."

"I told you, call me Rob." He smiles.

I will never call him Rob, because I have a feeling that the minute I do, he will become upset, like that was some kinda trap set to see if I was stupid enough to call this man by his first name.

I would like to think that I am not that stupid.

"So, Naomi…"

I turned my head as I heard Mr. Fitch start to talk.

"You know the rules."

"If I hurt her, you'll hurt me?"

"Atta girl. And back by 10:30. Not a moment later."

I look around awkwardly, not really sure where to look or what to do with my hands, or how often I can blink or if I can sit down or if-

"She's just getting ready."

His voice cuts through my awkward standing.

"Okay."

I don't really know what else to say.

I feel like I'm standing for an eternity until I feel a small tap on my left shoulder and I look behind me to see Emily Fitch in skirt and cute top.

She grabs my hand and we walk outside to the car, where I open her door for her because I used to see my dad do it, and my mum would always smile.

He would always hold her things and give her his jacket and she would smile brightly.

Looking back at it, it's easy to remember how my dad stopped doing all those things and mum stopped smiling and they stopped kissing and she stopped holding his hand and he stopped being there.

But that's not important, or at least, not right now.

She gets in and I run to the other side, opening the door and sliding in.

I turn to look at her.

"You look really nice."

She blushes.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

I start to drive and she keeps asking me where we're going and what we're doing and when we're be there and all of that and I almost tell her, but I decide to keep it a surprise instead.

We continue to drive and she turns up the radio, flipping through a few stations before deciding it's pointless.

I reach over and fiddle around, trying to find something good before stopping.

And if a double-decker bus

Crashes in to us

To die by your side

Is such a heavenly way to die

And if a ten ton truck

Kills the both of us

To die by your side

Well the pleasure, the privilege is mine

(The Smiths- There is a Light that Never Goes Out)

The lyrics sing out and I smile.

"He wasn't a hugely romantic guy, was he?" Emily laughs and turns it up.

"I don't know, I think there's something romantic to it. The idea that, this awful way to die is okay with him, that it's a pleasure, because the person he loves most is there, and how could he possibly be sad when they're there."

"Yeah," she says quietly and it's almost drowned out by the music, but I hear the faint whisper.

We continue to drive down the road, listening to music that I love with Emily Fitch and it makes me truly happy to think in my life, in my very uneventful, boring life, I am getting to experience something so truly magical and special.

Because I really like Emily.

I like the way she blushes when I compliment her, and how she laughs at my jokes, or just how she laughs. I like her smile and I like the way she sneezes. I like that she's funny and I like how smart she is. I like how she cares about people, and how she's, just… good.

I like her personality. And also her face.

And the rest of her too.

But I feel like that's too much at once, so let us go back to me driving down the road as Emily is smiling and I'm smiling.

I park the car once we get to the park, and I run around to the other side, opening the door for her.

Dad did it.

Mum liked it.

I did it.

Emily liked it.

I grabbed the basket and the blanket and we walked into the park, where spots were taken and it was crowded and kids were running around.

But I had a plan.

Emily started to walk towards the area, but I grabbed her hand and pulled her to a different area.

She followed me up this grassy hill, and when we reached the top, I looked around.

I had been to this park often when I was little, and I remember finding this little secluded hill, hard to find, but perfect to see the movie.

I spread out the blanket, trying to smooth every single section before realizing it was pointless and plopping down as elegant as I imagine a baby elephant would ice skate.

Emily sits down next to me, and I check the time.

6:37.

Awesome, the movie should be starting any minute now.

I slowly unpacked the basket, pulling out a confusing combination of contents in containers.

Alliteration.

I had asked mum to pack it, and I was just glad it wasn't vegan poop.

In one container was pasta, and in another was popcorn, and in another were chocolates. In one there were hotdogs wrapped in tinfoil.

I sat it down on the blanket in front of Emily, not realizing that while I did so, she began to eat it.

"Okay, and here we have…" I turned around from where I was pulling out the last container and watched as Emily finished her hot dog.

"Or you could do that," I said in awe as she picked up one of the containers of pasta.

She blushed a bit and put the container down.

"I'm eating a lot, I should slow down," she said kinda self-consciously.

"No, no, no, don't stop. Eat the pasta, it looks good," I reassured her immediately.

She smiled and picked up the container, eating it quickly as I began eating and then I heard a noise.

On the large gray wall that sat sadly in front of the park, Ferris Bueller's Day Off began, and I heard Emily squeal.

"You remembered?"

"Of course." I smiled.

I opened up the container of popcorn and we got comfortable, her leaning into my side.

I wanted to put my arm around her, but I wasn't entirely sure how to just casually do this.

But I had a plan.

It's full-proof.

I yawned loudly, kinda obnoxiously, and stretched my arms over my head.

When I lowered my arms, I cautiously put my left one over her shoulder, hoping that she would just accept this and think to herself, "Has Naomi's arm always been there? Oh, I guess it has. I guess I just didn't notice."

She did not think this.

Instead she laughed.

I furrowed my eyebrows.

"What?"

"That's the oldest trick in the book!"

I smirked.

"Well… it's working isn't it?"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't exactly call it smooth."

Well…

She had me there.

But she didn't say anything else, instead she grabbed my hand and pulled my arm more around her, and I turned my head from the movie to look at her face, and I could see her smiling softly, but I don't think it was because of the movie, even though it is fucking amazing.

And that's how we stayed for the whole movie.

The sky was dark and I looked around at all the people scrambling to get to their cars and leave, like fucking feeding time at the zoo.

I took off my jacket and handed her my jacket, because she looked a bit cold. She put it on and smiled gratefully at me.

I leaned back onto the blanket, clasping my arms behind my head and watched as Emily looked down at me and followed suit.

"That," I said pointing towards the starry sky, "is the big dipper. You can see the handle… there."

She looked up at the sky, following where my hand was pointing.

"That?" She asked, pointing to a cluster of bright stars.

"Yeah."

"And that," I said moving my hand, "is the Andromeda."

"How do you know all of this?"

I laughed one of those melancholy laughs that occur when you remember a distant memory from a happy time in your life, maybe it was a time before it all went to shit, and maybe it wasn't.

"My uh, my dad taught me when I was little," I said smiling softly.

"Really?"

"Yeah, he uh… we would sit outside when we went camping… my parents were huge hippies… and he would lie down on the grass with me, and point them all out."

"That sounds fun," I could hear her smile.

"It was. And he would ask me these really odd questions. Like… 'Do you think that on one of those stars, there are a dad and a daughter pointing at the earth?' or 'Ever wonder about all those damn stars and why they are there and what they mean?' and I would say, 'Dad, that's a really stupid question.' But secretly I thought they were great."

She laughed a bit and moved her head so it was on my chest, and I realized how cliché this was.

Stargazing and talking about old memories.

But I was happy.

"When's the last time you went camping?" She asked after a bit.

"I go camping with Cook all the time."

"Really?"

"Yeah… and one time Cook, his little brother, and I even camped out in line for a video game release."

She laughed.

"How was that?"

"Oh it was shit! We all got sick. Turns out we didn't pack enough blankets and we nearly froze to fucking death. We did get the game though, so there's that."

She laughed loudly into the quiet night.

"When's the last time you went camping with your parents?" 

It felt odd to be so open, but I concluded this:

Emily Fitch was an open person. I was a closed person.

But Emily Fitch made me an open person, or at least around her.

I unclasp my hands and move my arm down to where her head is, resting it just a bit above.

"I went when I was like nine or ten, with my mum, but it wasn't the same," I try to keep bitterness out of my voice, but I don't succeed.

"Oh? Why?" She cuddled into me, arm around my waste and I pulled her closer, wrapping my arm around her, putting my other hand back under my head.

"My dad wasn't there. He uh… well he left when I was seven. Just packed his things and drove away. And it was kinda shit for a long time. My mum and I tried to go camping without him but… it was just like a painful reminder that he wasn't there."

She could feel my body tense.

"I'm sorry. He missed out on a wonderful person."

"He's missed out on a lot of things," I say thinking of all the times I could've used my dad in my life.

And it's quiet for a bit, but this is different.

It's a comfortable silence and I don't feel the need to break it, but I do anyway.

"The jacket… it was his and… it was one of the only things he left. He would wear it to piss me mum off, you know the whole war thing. So… she sewed a big ass peace sign to the back to spite him. I like to wear it… and think that maybe it would piss him off a bit. But I really wear it because it reminds me of happy times."

"Oh," Emily said and started to move to give it back to me, realizing how special it was, but I stopped her.

"I like… I like it when you wear it."

She relaxed and we just laid there, talking and laughing about stupid little things.

"What time is it?" She asked.

I grabbed my phone and checked the time.

"9:48," I read aloud.

"I guess we should probably start to go back, unless you want my dad to murder you slowly and painfully," Emily laughed like it was an exaggeration, but I wasn't so sure.

Poor, poor Scotty Renold and his inability to keep it in his pants.

She sat up and we began to pack, walking back down to the car.

I opened up her door and she climbed in.

"So chivalrous," she laughed.

I put the things in the back and I climbed in.

"That's me, Miss Chivalrous."

And with that I started the car and we began to drive.

It was quiet and I reached my hand and fiddled with the radio yet again, hoping to find the same channel from earlier.

I heard the opening notes and smiled, turning it up louder.

Good feeling, won't you stay with me just a little longer?

It always seems like you're leaving when I need you here just a little longer

Dear lady, there's so many things that I have come to fear

Little voice says I'm going crazy to see all my worlds disappear

Vague sketch of a fantasy laughing at the sunrise like he's been up all night

Ooh, slipping and sliding, what a good time but now, I have to find a bed that can take this weight

Good feeling, won't you stay with me just a little longer?

It always seems like you're leaving when I know the other one just a little too well

Oh, dear lady, won't you stay with me just a little longer?

You know it always seems like you're leaving when I need you here just a little longer

(Violent Femmes- Good Feeling)

The song played out and when it ended, I looked over at Emily, who had her eyes closed and a small smile on her lips.

"That should be it."

"Be what?" I asked confused.

"That's our song."

"Our song?"

"Each relationship needs a song."

"Relationship?" I asked smiling.

"Well, uh… um," she struggles, embarrassment clearly etched on her figures.

I pull over as soon as I get the chance.

"Emily," I say and she looks over to me, still blushing and looking very embarrassed, "would you be my girlfriend?"

She smiles and pulls on my shirt collar, kissing my deeply and practically trying to pull me into her seat.

"I'd love that."

I smile and I cup her cheek gently, leaning in and kissing her softly.

I start to drive again, a smile still plastered to my face.

Lights and signs pass by in a haze as I drive along, occasionally looking at Emily, who is smiling as she leans her head against the window.

I continue driving until I reach her house.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, and watched as Emily did the same and began to open the car door.

"Wait, just give me one second," I said before scurrying out and opening the door for her.

I held out my hand and she grabbed, it getting out and holding it while I closed the car door shut.

She took off my jacket and handed it back to me.

"I… really like you," I said in a quiet whisper, looking down at my shoes.

She grabbed my chin gently and tilted my head up so I was looking her in the eyes.

"I really like you too Naomi."

She tilted her head to the right and leaned in a bit.

I met her lips and we kissed, tongues caressing each other, my hands on her hips while she slung hers around my neck.

We stopped after a bit, and I watched as she smiled.

"I'll see you on Monday, girlfriend?" She said.

"See you then… girlfriend."

I rolled the word around in my mouth.

Girlfriend.

I liked it.

I saw her open the door, making sure she got in safely before I climbed back into my mum's car, driving away.

That night when I closed my eyes I had one last thought.

Emily Fitch was my girlfriend.

 **Yep.**

 **Thanks for taking the time to read! Let me know what you thought.**

 **Also, quick thing, not important, so you can stop reading if you want.**

 **There's a song called Red Headed Girl by the Tijuana Panthers. It just always reminds me of Emily, because of the red hair. Not my favorite song, but I like it. I'm really into indie and 70's and 80's stuff.**

 **Also, I was rereading this story I really like called Life With You by Hez-xx, and I found a guest review under the name, I'm a Guest, there about Skins Fire, and I don't know, but I really like it.**

 **So I decided to quote it. Thank you to the guest who wrote this.**

" **I have read a lot of Naomily fanfics. They have helped me deal with the shit Skins Fire left us. Seriously, what the fuck was that? I discovered Naomily not long ago. I attribute them to helping me come to terms with my own sexuality and that I don't have to be ashamed or scared and that I can be happy. This is the very first Naomily fanfic I read. I have reread it countless times. It is not your most read fanfic, but this means the world to me. On the Skins Fire thing, I just wanted to say that maybe Naomi didn't die. There are stories of people coming back from terminal cancer. Maybe they never showed her death because she never did die. Maybe it was just showing that this is just another testament to Naomily fans. They lived because fans loved them, and now the show is over, and the fans continue to keep them alive. Naomi never died because those who loved the ship know better. They are still alive, but they are not on screen anymore. It is up to the fans to keep them alive. And we will. This probably sounds delusional, but these characters changed my life and taught me that I don't have to hide who I am and keep my sexuality under the rug and repress it like something I should be ashamed of. Your story helped me in more ways than I can ever tell you and I know it might not have seems like a big deal when you wrote it. Maybe you were just writing a cute one-shot. But it has changed my life, and I know that sounds silly and that you may never read this and that's ok. I just wanted it to be here so that one day you could know, even if you never do. Warmest regards."**

 **-I'm a Guest**

 **I don't know, I just liked that perspective on it, that the reason they never showed her death was because it was up to us to keep them alive.**

 **Anyways, let me know what you thought. Next chapter will be posted on Monday or Tuesday, most likely Monday, but possibly Tuesday.**

 **Thanks for everything.**


	7. Chapter 7

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hey. I'm not really too sure about this chapter, but then again, I'm never really too sure about any of them. Thank you for everything. I know I say it I lot, but I really do appreciate it. So away we go.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 7:**

My phone buzzed annoyingly on me nightstand.

A text from Cook.

I get ready and walk to Cook's, opening the door and sitting down on the couch, still smiling like an idiot with a newly discovered secret.

"You alright there Blondie?" He asks, looking at my smile like I'm deranged.

"Yeah, I'm good. You know, except for the fact that uh… Emily Fitch is my girlfriend," I say nonchalantly, counting to see how long it takes until Cook processes what I just said.

1

2

3

4

5

6

"Wait… She's your bird?!" He asks giddily.

"Yep," I say kinda smugly.

He cheers loudly, hitting my back as Paddy looks at him kinda strangely, and then shrugs his shoulders and joins in on Cook's cheering.

We sit there, watching Jackass and laughing, and I realize that for a while when I was little, things were going kinda shit.

Dad left.

Tina died.

Mum was sad.

And now, things are going… really fucking awesome.

I'm watching Jackass with my best mate and practically my little brother. Emily Fitch is my girlfriend.

I can't ask for a whole lot more.

I spend Sunday with Cook and Paddy again.

We go out to a movie, buying tickets to some shit G-Rated movie and sneaking into some shitter R-Rated movie.

It becomes increasingly more clear that this was not the right thing to do as the two main characters on screen begin to fuck roughly, and Paddy stares directly at it, not entirely sure where else to look.

I lower my hand over his eyes as Cook looks down at Paddy almost apologetically.

Whoops.

I wake up on Monday and it's the same as all the other days, except as Cook goes off with Wendy McRevend to under the bleachers to… well you know.

To fuck.

I start to walk around, deciding to go over to the mad scientists, which were the kids who spent all their time in the science lab, developing new ways to make things and inadvertently find new ways to set it on fire.

And trust me, it's not pretty when it's happens. I've been the one to put it out on more than one occasion.

I make my way to the lab, but I'm stopped when I feel a small tap on my shoulder.

I turn around to see Emily with a shy expression on her face.

"Hey."

"Hey." I smile.

She gently grabs my hand and begins to rub her thumb over it, sending a nice tingly-again with that goddamn word- feeling down my spine.

She reaches up and places her hands on her neck, tangling one of them in my long blonde hair.

She pulls me down and I meet her lips again, and I wonder if I will ever get tired of doing this.

Our mouths move until we're interrupted by a loud cough, and we break away to see Violet Dergewein looking at us.

Violet Dergewein, was well, to put it nicely… a bit of a bitch.

I had spoken to her a few times, because, as mentioned before, I was acquainted with everyone.

I did not enjoy speaking to her.

She spoke at you, going on making snide comments and looking always pissed off.

She was also a friend of the Fitch twins.

"Hi Violet," Emily says smiling, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

Violet doesn't seem to notice, and that makes me mad.

I have known Emily for not a long time. It is currently mid November, and though I was acquainted with Emily previously, it wasn't until October that I really started to know her.

Violet has known her a lot longer than me, but just from looking at it, it seems like Violet doesn't know her at all.

Emily drops my hand and gives Violet one of those really fake hugs that people give to people who they don't really want to hug.

"This is Naomi, my girlfriend," Emily says and links her arm with mine.

I like the way that sounds.

Violet smiles at me and then starts talking quickly.

"Oh my god! I didn't know you two were dating! Emily, you have to tell me everything. Where was your first date? Who asked who out? Does Katie know? Has she eaten dinner with your parents? We should totally double date! Tommy and me and you guys! Wouldn't that be great?" Her voice sounds like the one Emily does imitations of.

I can't keep up with what she said.

Something about eating with her parents and Katie and double dates?

Emily is nodding and they start talking and I'm just standing there like a twat, trying to keep up.

"Naomi has to go get something from her locker, right Naomi?" Emily looks at me suddenly and I'm about to say no before I realize that that is not the correct answer.

"Uh, yeah."

And with that Emily grabbed my hand and we began to walk away until Violet was out of sight.

She kissed me again.

"Walk me to class?"

"Of course."

We start to walk to her history class, me carrying her textbooks in one hand and holding her hand with my free hand.

We get to her class and I give her the books, being rewarded with a small peck for all my troubles.

I walk to Mr. Dirken's class smiling even though I'm walking into Mr. Dirken's class.

The classes pass without questions from Mr. Dirken or crying from Mrs. Incart.

I find myself sitting next to Cook at lunch like always.

He enthusiastically slaps down a flyer on the desk after spending five minutes going through his backpack looking for it.

"'New Beach Fossils Album. Be one of the first to own a copy! Can be bought at William's Music Emporium! Goes on sale on Sunday'" I read aloud, already starting to get excited.

"Do you know what this means Blondie?!"

"We're gonna be two of the first people to get the album?!"

"Hell yah we are!"

"Shhh! Quiet!" The librarian shouted, despite the fact that it was silence she was seeking.

"Sorry," we both say sheepishly.

"Okay, so we're gonna get there on Saturday and pitch our tent in line."

Paddy would be spending the weekend at his friend's house.

The week passes with ease.

Cook and I make our plan, deciding what we need to bring, how to keep ourselves from getting distracted, and all that fucking jazz.

I go over to Emily's house on Wednesday.

On Wednesday, we lied down on her bed, talking and making out and laughing and joking and stuff.

"No… you did not!" Emily laughed in hysterics.

"I did! I didn't mean to!"

"How the hell did you manage to piss off meditating hippies? They're supposed to be all peaceful and shit!"

"Well if you insult their chakras and they will become very agitated."

She laughs loudly, giggling and trying to catch her breath while I smile.

Her head is resting on my arm and I keep on glancing over at her and her beautiful smile.

I moved my head so it was covering hers and kissed her, kissed her like nothing else mattered because in that moment, maybe nothing else did.

I kissed her neck, sucking hard and nipping a bit gently.

And we continued to do this.

Talking and kissing and I was just really happy.

"Cook and I are waiting out in line to get the new Beach Fossils album," I said on Thursday morning while we sat at a table before school while Cook had gone off with some girl with very large tits.

"The Beach Fossils?" She asked, furrowing the eyebrows.

"Yeah, ya know, Twelve Roses? Sleep Apnea? Adversity? What a Pleasure? Shallow? Fall Right In?"

"Are those bands?"

"No, those are some of their songs."

"Oh."

"Yeah, they're cool."

"Can I listen to them?"

"Sure."

I pulled out my phone and a pair of earbuds from my messenger bag.

I plugged them in and handed Emily an earbud.

"Pick a song to listen to."

"Fall Right In?"

"Fall Right In it is."

I hit play and watched her face closely and she shut her eyes and smiled.

I can't see a thing, well it's on your face

I'm running down my stairs, and I'm heading to your place

Do you know what you have done to me?

We're spending all our time, it's never felt so right

The sun lights the room , 'cause we talked all night

I could stay with you till the sun goes out

And I'm walking home, through the empty streets

I gave you a kiss, and you turned to me

I've never cared so much about anything before

It's easy to lose track when you've lost your cares

Forget about my friends, and I know it's unfair

I've been reminded how it feels to be again

I'll do it again, I'll fall right in

I'll do it again, I'll fall right in

I'll do it again, I'll fall right in

I'll do it again, I'll fall right in

I'll do it again, I'll fall right in (Do it again, all again)

I'll do it again, I'll fall right in (I'll fall, fall right in)

I'll do it again, I'll fall right in

I'll do it again, I'll fall right in (Do it again, all again)

I'll do it again, I'll fall right in (I'll fall, I will fall right in)

I'll do it again, I'll fall right in

(Beach Fossils- Fall Right In)

"I like it," she said.

"You do?" I smiled.

"Yeah. A lot."

She clears her throat.

"So camping out, eh?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe I could come?" She asks hopefully.

"Sure. Cook would like that."

"I am supposed to go to this thing with Katie, but maybe I can convince her to come."

"…"

"Naoms?"

"…"

"Naoms?"

Katie is not notorious for her kindness and willingness to experience and except all walks of lives and tastes.

"Naoms?"

"Uh… I don't know," I say kinda cautiously.

"She's not that bad!" Emily says, but it doesn't seem like even she believes that.

"Didn't she break that one girl's nose for stealing her boyfriend?"

"… It was an accident."

"How do you punch someone in the face on accident?"

"Shut up!" She gives me a playful shove.

She pulls her scarf higher around her neck.

"What are you hiding, Fitch?" I ask, trying to move it down.

She pulls it down and shows me a rather large hickey.

"Next time be a bit more careful. My dad almost saw!" She hits my arm playfully.

"He did? Christ, he could snap my neck."

She giggles.

"He wouldn't do that."

I give her a confused look.

"Scotty Renold."

"…"

"Exactly."

"Walk me to class?"

A pattern has been developed where every single day I hold Emily's books and her hand and walk her to history.

And I like the pattern.

I like how she always gives me a kiss when we get to her class.

I like how I stand in the doorframe for a bit, making sure she's seated and made it, as if something could possibly happen from the door to her chair.

I like that I find myself smiling as a result even though I'm in Mr. Dirken's class.

I like it.

I find myself in the library once again on Friday, but that was to be expected.

There has not been one day that I was at school and did not eat lunch with Cook in the library.

"So… Emily wants to come to wait in line with us for the album. And… she wants Katie to come too."

I have a pretty good idea of how Cook will react.

It was eighth grade when Cook showed me his list.

His list of girls to fuck.

If you think about it, it was quite a crude and demeaning thing, but Cook tried not to do it in a demeaning way really, so it was kind odd an odd situation. I mean, he did do it in a crude and demeaning way, he just tried not to.

This is not to say that Cook only fucked the girls on the list.

No, he's probably fucked more than half of the female population. But the list was different.

The list was comprised of the attainably unattainable for Cook.

It had seven names, six when he began it.

The list used to read:

Suzie Ganglerson

Evelyn Reese

Avery Uninter

Nora Deenyin

Mila Nimminson

Sadie Hindle

You might be asking yourself what's so special about these girls?

Let me explain.

Suzie Ganglerson had the biggest boobs in eighth grade. And all the guys noticed this. And some girls too.

But she was as pure as they came.

She refused all of them.

Until Cook came along.

I don't know how what she saw in him, especially since the only thing he saw in her was himself.

Get it?

Yeah I know it was gross.

I'm sorry.

Evelyn Reese and Avery Uninter were thought of as celebrities because they were in that ad for takeaway pizza that plays when you are trying to watch your favorite show.

Nora Deenyin was a model, plain and simple. And very picky in whom she would date.

Mila Nimminson was the most popular girl in school.

Sadie Hindle was… well I don't know why Cook wanted to fuck her, but he did.

We were in the tenth grade when he had showed me the completed list, grinning and saying something about needing a challenge.

Enter Katie Fitch.

The Fitch twins were not new at school, in fact, they had gone to the same elementary and middle school as us.

But now enter Cook's realization that Katie was very fuckable, and that he would like very much to add her to the list.

The list looks like this now:

Suzie Ganglerson

Evelyn Reese

Avery Uninter

Nora Deenyin

Mila Nimminson

Sadie Hindle

Katie Fitch

But in his hunt to somehow get Katie to have sex with him, he began to develop a tiny crush.

He denies it.

And Katie doesn't want to go anywhere near him, or his dick for that matter.

But back to the library.

As I told Cook about the plan, his smile got wider, and wider, and wider.

"Katie Fitch, you say?"

"I do say."

"Yes, yes, yes! I'm finally gonna tick her off my fuck list!" He shouted whispered.

"Imagine it Naomio. You and Emily in one tent. Me and Katie in one tent. You get laid. I get laid. It's gonna be great. And then we get the new album."

"I'm not gonna have sex with Emily! I just started dating her!" I whispered.

"Right. But I'm gonna shag Katie."

And with that, the matter was settled.

And so Saturday rolled around and Cook and I grabbed our things at three in the afternoon drove to William's Music Emporium.

We were not the first in line, but we were very close to the front.

We set up our two tents and began to unpack.

These were the following contents:

Three sleeping bags (one would be shared by Cook and Katie after a long night of shagging, as he put it)

Two lanterns

A deck of cards

One Monopoly board game

Two large bags of chips

Eight protein bars

Two large bags beef jerky

Two loaves of bread

Ten bottles of water

Two jars of peanut butter

Two jars of jelly

Four pillows

Two large winter coats

One hoodie (For Cook, I had my army jacket)

Four small chairs

One bottle of Vodka

One small table

And that was it.

A lot of stuff, but Cook and I had both done camp outs where we had basically nothing, and those never ended well.

We were sitting on the chairs playing War with the cards.

And let me tell you something about War.

War is fun for the first game, until you realize it doesn't end.

And you keep on playing, and playing and playing.

And then you realize that you are fucking trapped in a card game, because you don't want to lose, but you don't want to keep playing, so you just on slapping cards down, hoping against hope that it will end.

We played for an hour before deciding to call it quits.

We decided to tell stories instead, real and false ones, trying to see if we could guess if they were true.

"One I had a threesome with two models." –Cook. (True)

"One time I found a dying bunny in the woods and tried to nurse it back to health in my house. It ended up shitting everywhere." –Me (True)

"I have fucked someone fifty years older than me." –Cook (False)

And so on.

It was five when the Fitches arrived, both wearing large coats.

Katie already looked pissed, which was understandable, and Emily had a small, sweet smile on her lips.

They walked to where we were sitting.

"I can't fucking believe that Emily convinced me to come wait in line with you losers," Katie spat.

"That's the spirit," I said.

Emily gave me a small kiss and sat down in my lap.

Katie sat down huffily in an unoccupied chair.

"Quite the set up you two have," Emily grinned.

"Ya know us, we only like the best," Cook said, winking at Katie, who, in return, promptly flipped him off.

Katie took out her phone and began to fiddle with it, while the three of us looked at her.

She looked up after realizing the three of us were staring at her.

"Fuck off. I'm texting Veronica."

"Feisty, I like it Katiekins."

"Fuck off, I'm not going anywhere near your diseased dick," she snapped while Cook laughed.

We continued to play our game, Emily joining in.

Although I was a bit distracted.

Her arms around my neck, her ass in my lap. I couldn't think straight, and yes, pun fucking intended.

And that's how we carried on until a little after seven, when the incident happened.

The incident was Katie's phone dying, and her realizing that she would now have to actually spend time with us "losers."

"For fuck's sake! What am I gonna do now?!"

"I could distract you." Cook winked.

"Fuck off and die," Katie said, grabbing one of the open bags of chips and taking a large handful.

"Anyone up for eating dinner?" I asked, breaking the silence that had consumed us.

"Sounds good Nomi," Emily said as Cook grabbed the bread, the peanut butter, and the jelly.

"What the fuck is this?" Katie asked, looking at the food in horror.

"Dinner," Cook said proudly, like he had just caught a seventy pound fish.

"This is a fucking joke, right?" 

"Katie don't be a bitch, eat the food," Emily said, beginning to make one of the sandwiches.

"Fine," she grumbled and began to assemble one.

The sky was dark and it was fucking freezing.

Emily had cuddled closer to me while Cook had tried many times, unsuccessfully, to put his arm around Katie.

It was nearing nine, and it looked like it might rain soon.

"We have Vodka," I said, suddenly remembering the bottle of vodka sitting in one of the tents.

"Vodka?" Katie brightened and Cook grinned.

Cook sat up and searched one of the tents, coming out of it waving the bottle around.

"Let's play a game," Cook said with a dangerous smile.

"What game?" Emily asked.

"Never have I ever. If you've done it, you take a drink."

"Okay, I'll go first," Katie said first.

"Never have I ever fucked a teacher."

Cook took a sip.

"Never have I ever… been arrested," Emily said, giving me a mischievous smile.

She knew I had been because of Cook.

I regretted ever telling her about that.

Cook took a sip and passed me the bottle.

The alcohol hit the back of my throat and didn't go down easily.

"Never have I ever… worn leopard print," I said looking at Katie, who glared at me, harshly grabbing the bottle and took a swig.

"Never have I ever, skinny dipped," Cook said before grabbing the bottle and taking a swig.

Katie took a sip too.

"Never have I ever been a virgin at 18… take a sip Emsy," Katie said passing her the bottle.

"Fuck you Katie," Emily said harshly, obviously not pleased that Katie had revealed something like that.

I sighed and grabbed the bottle, taking a sip too as Emily stared at me, connecting the dots in her head, and smiling slightly.

We continued to play this, until we had about half a bottle of vodka left, and the guy in the tent next to us told us that if we didn't turn off our lights and go to sleep, he would be calling the cops and reporting us for underage drinking.

It was close to midnight.

"Okay, so Katie and I will be in a tent, and Emily and Naomio will be in the other," Cook said, getting into his tent.

"Wait… hold on. Do you actually fucking think I would share a tent with you and your Crayola dick?" Katie asked sharply.

"I was kinda hoping."

"Yeah, not gonna happen. I'm sharing with Emsy."

"Katie, I want to share with Naomi," Emily said, clutching my hand. 

"Well, too fucking bad."

"Well, we only have three sleeping bags, cause you were gonna share with me," Cook argued.

"Well that was a shit assumption."

"Fine, but can you guys share the sleeping bag then?" Cook gave up.

"No fucking way. You and Campbell are gonna have to share."

"No way!" Cook and I both said at the same time.

"Sucks for you two, doesn't it?"

And with that Katie climbed into the tent that I would have been sharing with Emily.

Emily kissed my cheek apologetically and got into the tent with Katie as Cook and I looked at each other, not entirely sure what to do now.

The last time we had shared a bed was when we were nine, and we went top and tail in my twin bed.

And now here we were, one sleeping bag.

The rain was coming down, pounding on our tents.

We packed our stuff up, and then climbed into our tent.

"So…"

We unzipped the sleeping bag and turned it into a kinda blanket.

But sharing a kinda small blanket with another person is not an easy thing to do, especially when you are both in large coats.

"For fuck's sake, stop hogging the sleeping bag blanket thing, Cook," I said, tugging over.

"Well now I have nothing," he said, pulling it over him.

We were playing fucking tug of war.

And I was losing.

We continued to do this for a while.

"Oh, you know what, fuck this, I have a plan," Cook said.

"What?" I asked, desperate for a way to solve this.

"Take off your clothes."

"Um…"

"Not like that, you're like my bloody sister. Take off your pants, winter jacket, shirt, and army jacket.

I did as he said and he did the same.

He flipped himself around, so we were sleeping top and tail.

"Ok, now flip the sleeping bag the other way."

I followed his instructions and flipped it so the sides were now the top and bottom.

"Now, just use the clothes as a blanket for the parts the sleeping bag isn't covering."

"Cook, that's practically the same fucking thing!"

"…Oh yeah," Cook said, realizing that it was almost the same thing.

"It's a bit warmer though, I guess," I said, and tried to go to sleep.

I woke up to laughter.

It was Katie and Emily, currently laughing at the fact that Cook and I were sleeping like nine year olds, and using our clothes as blankets.

Cook sat up at the same time I did, and to my horror, the blanket slid down off of us, and I remembered that I was in my girly boxers and a bra.

And that was it.

I grabbed my shirt and hastily threw it over my head, looking around for my pants and putting them on, trying to get dressed quickly.

"Should I be jealous?" Emily laughed, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, playing tug a war with a sleeping bag is a lot of fun," I laugh.

"I'm sure it is."

Cook got dressed, winking at Katie who just looked angry, but I wasn't really sure how Katie Fitch looked when she wasn't angry.

Or crying.

We started to pack up the tents and other stuff, waiting until the clock hit 8:00, so the line would surge forward and we could buy the new album.

I held Emily's hand, taking my phone out and putting it back in my pocket every three seconds, waiting for the time to pass, but I lost track of time because her hand felt so good in mine.

And then it happened.

The line moved and so did we, up and up until we were in the store.

The store was huge, but Cook instantly spotted the albums, which we grabbed quickly as the rush behind us followed.

"I need one for my grandson!" An old lady shoved a pregnant woman out of the way.

"I need one now!" A girl a bit older than me pushed a man with thinning hair.

"Give me it!" A dad holding his daughter on his back stole one from a teenage boy's hands.

We rushed to the counter, sweating and panting a bit as we quickly paid and ran back to the parking lot, throwing our stuff in and scrambling into the car.

Cook began to drive off and as we took deep, heavy breaths, I began to laugh, chaotically, like I had never seen anything funnier.

Like when the big scary guy chased us and we realized we were safe.

I laughed kinda like a crazy person, and soon enough everyone else joined in, even Katie fucking Fitch.

Cook popped in his CD and we listened to it, smiling, as we drove back to the Fitch residence.

The house with the red door where a man who was scarily strong threatened suitors of his daughters, and a mother cried on the sofa and hugged a little too tight, and a pervy boy sat up in his room, doing god knows what.

We were about halfway there when asked a very important question.

"Anyone want to go get some fucking breakfast?"

There was a murmur of agreement as Cook turned the car sharply, sending the Fitches crashing into each other and me to the side of the car.

"For fuck's sake, Cook!" I swore as he grinned like a second grader who had broken a crayon and gotten away with it.

He pushed hard on the gas, sending me flying back into my seat.

Cook is not a great driver.

We stopped in front of a small diner, completed with the classic '50's look.

We parked and walked inside.

Cook swung the door open and made a grand entrance, even though no one even looked his way, mostly because there wasn't really anyone to look.

The waitresses looked bored and kinda tired, but I couldn't really blame them, especially if I had to repeat the same phrase over and over.

"Welcome to Carl's Swinging Diner! Would you groovy cats like to eat inside or outside?"

Cook smiled his shit-eating grin.

"Inside. I always like being inside."

Gross.

Very gross.

"Christ, you're disgusting." I rolled my eyes as Katie and Emily groaned.

She led us to a booth in the corner and slapped down menus with a fake smile.

"I'll bring you cool cats some water."

Cook opened up his menu and looked through it.

"I'm getting this!" He said, slapping the menu down and pointing enthusiastically to a meal that read, "The Goliath."

"'Finish the meal in under thirty minutes with a maximum of five people and you win a t-shirt, a picture up on the wall, and a free meal,'" he read aloud.

"No."

"Come on you guys."

"No."

"How much money do you guys have?" He asked.

I reached into all of my pockets, pulling out four dollars and a nickel, while Emily pulled out three quarters, and Katie just shrugged.

Cook pulled out two dollars.

"We don't have any fucking money," Cook stated the obvious.

"Well, I'm not eating that fucking thing," Katie snapped.

"How else we gonna eat princess?"

"Why did you ask us if we wanted breakfast if you didn't have any money?" She said harshly.

"Listen, if you ain't gonna eat the food, then get to fuck."

"I guess we don't really have much of a chance," Emily sighed.

And I just sat back and watched this shit show happen.

The waitress walked back up to us.

"We'll take the Goliath," Cook said, handing the menus over to the waitress.

"Coming up… groovy cats."

They really didn't know that much 50's lingo.

We sat in silence until the waitress brought us a giant plate with ten slices of toast, ten strips of bacon, three giant sausages, a shit ton of scrambled eggs, and two huge pancakes.

She brought out a clock and hit start, as Cook grabbed two slices of toast and slipped them into his mouth.

I grabbed five pieces of bacon and started to shove them down, barely remembering to chew it.

Katie grabbed a sausage and began to choke it down, and Emily grabbed handful after handful of scrambled egg.

I tore off a large piece of pancake and ate it quickly, reaching forward for a slice of toast.

Katie was on her second sausage and grabbed some toast.

And this is how we ate, chaotically.

I don't know if any of you guys have ever force-fed yourselves scrambled eggs, but it's pretty awful.

The plate was clearing up and we only had a few more slices of toast and one pancake left with five more seven more minutes to go.

We started to swarm over it, drowning the pieces down with water and trying not to choke.

We had half a pancake left with one minutes to go.

"And time!" The waitress said as the timer went off.

"Congrats y'all, you've conquered the Goliath!" She said, looking down at the empty plate and the four bodies slumped in the booth.

"That was fucking… awful," I said finally as they nodded.

They woman came back with four t-shirts that read in large yellow peeling letters, "I conquered the Goliath!"

She made us put the stupid shirts on and took out a Polaroid and snapped a picture, walking over to a small bulletin board and tacking it on.

We staggered out of the booth, clutching our stomachs, but kinda laughing.

We clambered back into the car and drove away, Cook proudly dawning his shirt while Katie took hers off and probably threw it out the window or something.

Cook parked the car and we got out.

I grabbed Emily's hand and walked her to her door, as Katie and Cook trailed behind.

"Thanks for coming."

"Yeah, it was fun."

"I'll text you?"

"Yeah."

I cupped her face gently and kissed her, getting lost in it.

"Alright that's enough! She's my sister!"

"No, no, no! Keep going!" Cook cheered.

I pulled away and watched as her eyelids fluttered open.

I watched Cook slobber a kiss on Katie's cheek, which she immediately wiped off.

"Gross, you fucker!" She said, but she was trying to keep from laughing.

Mr. Fitch opens the door and I walk quickly back to where Cook stands, a lot straighter and with no shit-eating grin on his face now.

Katie walks up to where I was just standing.

I watch as they are pulled inside and Mr. Fitch continues to just stand there, looking at us.

"Did you guys have fun on your trip?" He asks smiling scarily.

I want to smile back, but I feel like it's not a real smile, and I can't tell if he wants to hug us or stab us.

I'm not gonna take my chances.

So instead we both nod.

"I remember going on those types of things with my mates," he gave us a melancholy smile.

We said our goodbyes and he waved at us and shut the door.

We walked back to the car and drove off.

I wonder if he ever wishes for prior times in his life. He looks like a tired man, happy, but tired.

I feel like most people wish for a time when things were brighter because things were always brighter some other time, or at least, that's how it seems.

I bet that's how Mrs. Incart feels. I bet she wishes for the time when she could tell her husband loved her, and didn't plead with her classmates to reassure her and lie to her so she could continue to pretend like her wasn't fucking Tiffany.

I bet Cook wishes for the time when his mum smiled more and Paddy wasn't so used to his mum being passed out.

I bet mum wishes for the time when dad still loved us and Tina was still alive.

As a kid, I used to wish for those times.

I remember seeing her crying, and not really knowing why. I remember when she would get sad, and she wouldn't come out of her room.

She was up and she was down, and when she was down, it seemed like nothing would ever be up again.

But, I don't think you want to hear wallow in some fucked up self-pity.

You don't need that, and I don't need that either.

Cook drove away and dropped me off at my house.

I laid in bed for a bit, playing my album over and over again, the words and their meaning disappearing until they were just sounds and they were just part of the melody.

It's odd.

Emily.

I haven't been dating her for a while, but I can't imagine not dating her.

I don't really know, but then again, I never really do.

It's just that I like spending time with her.

I just like being with her.

I feel… I don't know… good… when I'm with her.

I don't really like spending time with that many people on this great big planet.

I don't love asking the math nerds about their teachers and I don't love listening to dark poetry, and I don't really enjoy passing a soccer ball around while someone rambles about little problems that aren't really that important when you think about it.

I don't like telling stupid, insignificant stories and lying in bed looking at someone's ceiling and feeling them laugh against me.

But I like doing those things with Emily.

I like telling her about the time I broke my arm and mum thought a hippie healing tea would help.

It didn't.

I like it when the vibrations of her beautiful laugh rumbles against me as she lays her head on my chest.

I like it when she calls me a twat for not reading Harry Potter and I like how she teases me and I like how she wraps herself up when I give her my jacket and I like that she stood in line with me so I could do something I like and I like that she makes me happy and that she doesn't write Cook off and that she doesn't think that I'm stupid when I ramble about the universe.

I like her smile and the way her lips curl up shyly and how she sneezes and how she nudges my side when I'm stupid (which happens a lot), and how her eyelids flutter when we pull away after a kiss and how her lips are parted just slightly afterwards.

I like how I notice all these things about her and how much I like them.

I like her a lot.

 **That was it.**

 **A little nervous about this one.**

 **I am currently working on the 11** **th** **chapter of this story. So, I will try to write a lot more.**

 **In case you are wondering, the Beach Fossils are an indie band I really like. They do not have a new album, but I just wanted to use them, so I made up that they had a new album out. Check them out if you want, or don't, I don't want to force music on you, that's never fun.**

 **The next chapter will be posted on Thursday.**

 **Let me know what you thought.**

 **Thanks again!**


	8. Chapter 8

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Okay, so here we go! Thanks for everything, I really appreciate you just reading this story! Thank you to Irma the Lunch Lady, LilyCanBeMyPyjamas, NegroAmigo, and a guest for reviewing.**

 **Thank you NegroAmigo for giving me some advice.**

 **So, here we go!**

 **Chapter 8:**

It's been a couple days since we conquered the Goliath and since we watched a battle over the albums.

I'm sitting under a tree on the field, looking out ahead, looking at all the things happening before my eyes.

The kids being bullied and the couples breaking up and the people hooking up and the slackers doing last minute homework and the nerds talking overexcitedly about stuff.

"Hey stranger."

I look up and see Emily standing, smiling.

She sits down next to me and I move to the side a little so she can lie back against the tree, too.

She lies back against it and grabs my hand.

I can feel some kinda electricity or some cheesy shit like that whenever I touch her.

I hate saying that because that's what everyone always says and it sounds like complete bullshit.

But my heart beats a bit faster when she's around.

She puts her head on my shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh you know, contemplating life and the mysteries of the planet."

She laughs.

"Shut up." She pushes me a bit and rolls her eyes.

"What? You don't like my answer? I put a lot of thought into it. Thought you would be pleased."

"Have you been listening to the album?"

"Yeah, excessively. I probably have a problem by this point."

"Only one problem?"

"Oi!"

She laughs again.

I really like it when she does that.

She grabs the back of my neck and pulls me into her, lips connecting and electricity flowing and chemicals of happiness being released.

Is that a thing?

I'm gonna look it up.

It's a thing.

Maybe if Mrs. Incart more time talking about science rather than her wanker of a husband, I would have known that already.

Cook is sitting at the same spot at lunch, because really, what else would have been expected.

"Hey Blondie."

"Hey Cookie."

I sit down next to him and pull out some kinda tofu food packed from home.

It looks like theirs cat hairs on it.

We don't have cats.

I pull out a chair and sit down.

"So… fucked Katie, yet?" I ask suddenly, laughing, remembering

He looked over at me, smiling.

Oh no.

I know that face.

He has a plan.

"I have a plan."

Fuck.

I sighed.

"Alright, what's your grand plan?"

"I'm gonna make her fall madly in love with me."

"… Don't think that's gonna work."

"Why not?"

"… She's not exactly you're number one fan. In fact, I think she despises you on many levels."

"You'll see."

"Okay…" 

And we continue to eat.

I go over to Emily's house after school.

The door's red pant is chipping slightly and I notice a small crack, and now I can't unnotice it and it's really starting to bug me.

Mrs. Fitch opens the door and I hold out my arms awkwardly because I already know what's coming.

"So good to see you again," she says and kinda rocks a bit, which just makes things even fucking stranger.

Eventually I walk up the stairs, all 17 of them, because I can't exactly walk up only 14 of them and get to Emily's room.

I open her door and leave it open as I walk over to her bed and throw myself down on the bed.

That's the new rule:

Leave the door open.

Mr. Fitch is the one who first told me after one day when I began to walk up the stairs.

"Just in case you get any funny ideas," he says humorlessly, but with a certain edge that says, "I remember when I was a teen. What a hoot! If you do what I did as a teen, I'll kill you with my bare hands."

I left the door open for that reason.

Emily was lying on the bed, reading some book with an old orange color.

She put the book down and looked over at me, smirking.

She placed a kiss on my nose and moved her head to my chest.

"You smell good," I said randomly like a complete fucking twat.

"Really? Do I smell shit most of the time?" She said in a mock serious tone.

"Dog shit to be precise," I said laughing as she nudged me.

"Cheeky."

She closed her eyes and snuggled- that's not a great word- into me.

Snuggled.

S-n-u-g-g-l-e-d.

Huh.

It's kinda odd.

I don't think I like that word.

I mean, I like snuggling with Emily, but that word is kinda odd and I kinda hate it, but I'm not sure if I do.

Well anyway, she _cuddled_ into me, and I smiled because it felt so fucking good to have her here in my arms.

Even though my feet kinda hung off the bed almost comically.

"You want to watch a movie?" She asked after a bit, moving up from my arms.

I leaned up on my elbows.

"What movie?"

She looked at me, a smile growing on her face and I knew where she was going.

"No. No. No. We watched it like ten times already!"

"Please!"

"No."

And do you want to know what she did?

She puppy dog eyed me.

That is not fucking fair!

"Oh alright," I sighed as Emily walked up and over to her bookshelf, where a few DVDs were lined up neatly.

She grabbed the Princess Bride and walked downstairs and into the living room.

Now listen, before you start shitting on me for not liking The Princess Bride, let me explain.

I like The Princess Bride. It's a great movie.

But Emily loves that movie.

I have watched it three times now with her.

We have been dating for almost a month now.

The fact that I will have now seen it four times is a lot.

But…

It makes Emily happy, and I love how her face lights up when the grandfather first comes into the room and how she squeezes me arm a little tighter at certain scenes and how she laughs or how her eyes light up.

So…

I'll watch the movie again.

Mrs. Fitch is not on the couch like I thought she might be, which is very fortunate.

It's not easy watching a movie with your girlfriend- now that's a word I like- when her mum is there and trying to join in awkwardly.

Not like that.

Sorry.

I mean, when she's trying to talk to you and stuff.

Well now I sound like a bitch.

Fuck it, back to the couch.

Emily puts the movie in and cuddles into me.

The movie begins to play and the beginning baseball video game appears on the screen.

The movie passes, and my focus keeps on drifting to her.

Her red hair is splayed out and I just want to touch it, like a fucking moth to a fly.

I crane my head down even more and watch childlike wonder appear on her face and I smile because it's the cutest thing I've ever seen.

I kiss the top of her head softly.

She cranes her head upwards and smiles at me.

She has such a beautiful smile.

It's bright and emotional and simple and lovely and… incredible. I've never believed that anything was perfect, ever. Never have I thought that something or someone could be perfect.

Could be so amazingly amazing that life is not the same without them.

But she is.

And it feels odd to be saying this.

I feel like I'm just a gooey mess of emotions and mush and gross coupliness. Like the whole, "You hang up." "No you hang up." "No, you hang up."

Gross.

Someone just fucking hang up.

But here I am, a fucking gushy twat who just went on and on about her smile.

For fuck's sake.

She does have an amazing smile though.

And it just hit me.

Sitting on that couch, thinking about her smile, it hit me.

This girl is so amazing that if she is not here, on this planet, nothing should or ever would be okay again.

The sun would like… fall out of the sky, and mum would become extremely hateful towards her hippie friends, and… squirrels would rule the earth or something.

I don't know.

But nothing would ever be even remotely okay because I cannot imagine a world without Emily Fitch. I don't want to.

I won't.

And I won't have to, because she will be fine.

I hold her a little tighter.

If I hold her tight enough than nothing can hurt her.

That is what I choose to believe.

Maybe I'm a fool, but as long as I hold her tight enough, nothing will hurt her because I will not let it.

The movie goes on with light touches and heavy snogging.

I really like snogging Emily Fitch.

But I'm not gonna go on about it because I have already gone on about her smile and I feel like if I go on any longer it will become too much for anyone to bare.

I might even vomit from the disgusting cuteness of it.

"Nomi."

"Nomi."

"Naoms."

"Naoms."

"Naomi."

It takes me a lot longer than it should to realize that she's calling my name.

"Yeah?"

"You zoned out for a bit. The movie's over."

"It is?"

She smiled softly.

"Yeah, space cadet."

I look at the time and realize it's late.

I sit up and give her a kiss goodbye, grabbing my bag and walking out the red door, to my house.

Dinner is awkward to say the least.

It's not about political injustices or some new yoga class with Jan or a date with her boyfriend Kieran.

It's about colleges.

"So… you thinking of any colleges, love?" My mum asks casually.

I almost choke on my gross rice dish.

"What?"

"Well, you are a senior. You really should be applying and stuff."

I take a moment to take a deep breath.

I don't have a clue what I am going to do.

I don't know what I want to do.

I'll probably just go to college and get a nine to five job and work until the day I can retire and then I'll die.

I remain silent.

I'm in my room reading a book for English when I hear a buzz on the desk.

I sit up and walk over and answering the call from Cook.

"Operation Shag Katie is a go."

I read it and frowned.

This was going to go horribly wrong.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm gonna start to like… woo her and shit and then she'll shag me."

"Ooh! Someone's got a crush!" I teased.

"I do not."

"Yes you do."

"No I don't."

"You know what, you're right. She's not even that good looking."

Will he take the bait? 

"What? She's fucking hot. Have you seen those mint tints?! Have you seen her face? Have you seen it?!"

And he took it.

"You've got a crush."

"No. I just want to shag her."

"Why are you lying to yourself Cook?"

"Shut it Blondie. I do not have a crush."

"Alright…"

To many people, it may just seem like Cook just wants a shag, but if you knew him, you'd know that by now, Cook would have probably gotten it.

No, I think he's likes her.

I don't know why he wouldn't have shagged her by now, but I don't think it's because she doesn't want to.

I think it's because he likes her too much.

But anyways.

All of a sudden he turns to me with a crooked grin and I can almost see the fucking light bulb over his head.

"Set us up."

"What? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Yes. Set us up on a double date or some shit." 

"Do you remember what happened last time?" I say, thinking of sleeping in the tent with only one sleeping bag as the rain hit hard against the tent.

"It'll be different. This time, I'll charm Katie… and then we'll shag. And then it'll be over," he says simply.

I feel like it won't just be over.

"No way."

"Please. Do it for your best mate."

He's giving me these pouty eyes and he looks fucking ridiculous.

I roll my eyes.

"I'll ask Emily."

"Yes! You're the best mate ever!" He says, sloppily kissing my cheek.

"Be quiet!" The librarian shouts.

She looked over at us and squinted her eyes, looking like she was trying to make us burst into flames.

She probably was.

Cook and I were sitting on his couch watching a movie when I decided to just bite the bullet and ask about a double date.

I took my phone out of my pocket and stepped outside, calling her.

"Hey." I could hear her smile over the phone.

"Hey," I said, already smiling at hearing her voice.

"What's up?"

"Just wanted to hear your voice," I said, already completely forgetting why I had called.

"You're a soppy twat."

I heard a loud cough from inside.

"Oh, and uh… Cook was thinking that… well, remember when we all hung out to get the album?"

"Yes, I remember that event that took place a couple of days ago," she laughed.

"Well… it went pretty well I'd say. Maybe we could… do it again?"

"You want to go on a double date with my sister and Cook."

"Yes."

"This is a terrible idea."

"But?"

"She'll never agree."

"But?"

"She's gonna hate it."

"Is there a but?"

"But… I'll ask."

"You're the best."

"I know."

What a cheeky little fucker.

I walk back onto the couch, sitting down smugly.

"What'd she say?"

I said nothing.

"What'd she say?!"

I said nothing.

"For fuck's sake! What did she fucking say?!"

I turned to him.

"It's a maybe!"

"Woo!" He cheered loudly. "She said maybe!"

"Who might have a date with Katie Fitch?!" He yelled.

"You might have a date with Katie Fitch!" I shouted back, laughing.

"I thought you just wanted to fuck her," I teased.

He calmed down.

"Yeah… uh… that's why I'm excited."

"Sure."

I grabbed the joint from his hand, taking a long drag and passing it back to his waiting fingers.

"Don't smoke the whole damn thing Blondie!" He said, putting it back between his lips.

"Yeah, cause you worked so hard to steal it from Freddie."

Freddie was another stoner at school. It was like taking candy from a baby with him.

That's a horrible figure of speech. What kinda ass wipe takes candy from a baby?

He laughed. 

"Freddie didn't even realize I took them. What a dickhead," he said howling.

He gestured towards the mint tin filled with neatly wrapped spliffs on the table in front of us.

I steal the spliff and finish it off, as Cook takes a sip of my beer.

"Hey, that's my beer!"

"That's my spliff."

"It's a community spliff."

"This is news to me Naomikins."

Emily is waiting for me under the same tree the next morning.

I still interact with all the other groups like I did before, but not as much.

It's odd.

The whole school has figured out by now that we're a couple, but it was immediately accepted.

I thought there were gonna be more questions about how I managed to land Emily Fitch.

I sit down next to her.

"I have good news," she says.

"You do?"

"Yeah, but first…"

She leans forwards and captures my lips.

"Katie said yes to the double date," she finishes after we've pulled away.

"Really?"

I thought she would have shot it down immediately.

"I think Katie might like Cook. She denies it, of course."

"I think Cook likes Katie.

She smiled.

I throw my arm around her shoulders.

She leans into me.

"So… what should the date be?"

"A movie?"

"Katie won't like that. She doesn't really like movies."

"A concert?"

"Katie won't want to go see anything you guys like."

"What would Katie like to do? I have a feeling that list will be a lot shorter."

She frowns, thinking.

Her eyebrows scrunch up and it's really fucking cute.

"What about… a restaurant or something?" She suggests finally.

"Cook plus fine dining is not a good combination."

"Oh, it won't be that bad."

"I guess we can give it a shot."

"So, Friday then?"

This is going to be a giant fucking shit show.

"What?!"

I was currently standing in Cook's room. It was Friday, and he was shitting his pants.

"Why are you acting so surprised? I told you we were going to a posh restaurant!"

"I didn't think I was gonna have to wear some nice looking shit!"

"What did you think I meant by posh you tosser?!"

"I don't know?! Like… a shirt with no holes."

I smacked my forehead.

"I said, 'Cook, do you have nice clothes?' and you said, 'Yeah, I have some.'"

"I didn't know!"

"How could you be that fucking stupid?!"

"You know me! It is very possible that I can be that fucking stupid! And you should have clarified!"

"It's hard to clarify basic sentences!"

He had begun panicking once I showed up at his house wearing a nice shirt.

He began rifling through his closet, throwing clothes around.

"What about this?" He says a bit breathless, holding up a dark blue shirt with a semi large hole in the side.

I shake my head.

"This?"

He holds up a nice looking shirt.

I nod.

He flips it to the back and I see the words, "Tit monster" in peeling white letters.

I shake my head.

I give up and tell him to just wear one of his polo's.

"Now come on, we're gonna be late thanks to you, you prick."

We jump into his mum's car and drive off to the Fitch residence.

"Alright, I'll be in the car," he says, parking.

"What? I hate going in there."

"Well, I'm not going in."

"Why not?"

"Mr. Fitch wants to rip my balls off," he says completely serious.

"I thought you wanted to impress Katie," I tease, hoping to bait him into doing it.

"I can impress her from the car."

"Rock, paper, scissors. Loser has to go in."

"Deal."

"Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!" We shout.

He holds out rock and I hold out scissors.

"Two out of three?" I ask, hoping he'll agree, knowing he won't.

"Have fun in there."

I sigh and unbuckle my seatbelt, walking to the door.

I knock a few times.

"Naomi, kiddo, how are you?" Mr. Fitch asks, smiling.

"Good, how are you?"

"I'm doing well."

I stand there awkwardly.

"Come on in."

I really would rather just stand out here and wait, but it was a command, not a suggestion.

I walk through the door, sitting down on the couch.

"The girls are almost down."

We sit in silence.

"So… You go to the gym a lot Naomi?" He asks finally, looking for any kind of common ground.

He wasn't gonna find it.

"No."

I would have liked to say not really or not recently, but that wouldn't have been honest.

I did not go to the gym.

"What?!" He asks shocked.

"It's not really my things," I say sheepishly.

"Do some pull-ups, I'll spot you," he says getting up and gesturing towards a pull-up bar that hung in the doorway.

"Oh… uh… it's alright Mr. Fitch."

"Nonsense. Get up on the bar, kiddo."

Once again, this is a command.

I put my hands on the bar.

"Alright, go."

I lift myself up.

"Put some back into it!"

Mr. Fitch has transformed into my personal trainer in the matter of seconds.

I lift again.

"A proper extension!"

I try again.

"Again!"

Jesus Christ.

"There we go! Another!"

I am not cut out for physical exercise.

"Dad?"

Oh thank fuck.

Emily is looking at her dad standing in front of me, while I struggle to pull myself up and not break all the bones in my body.

"What's happening?" She asks, laughing as I drop down and Mr. Fitch goes back to smiling.

"Showing Naomi, here, the importance of pull-ups."

She looks me expectantly.

"I feel like a whole new person," I deadpan.

She bites her lip to stop from laughing as Mr. Fitch looks at me, obviously pleased with what he's hearing, not picking up on the joke, which is good, 'cause if he had, I don't think he would have been too pleased.

Katie comes down behind Emily.

They are both dressed nicely and look pretty, but I can only focus on Emily, and how stunning she looks in an elegant, black dress. I can literally feel my mouth drop a bit and my heart beat faster, but then again, that always happens when I'm around Emily.

"You're gonna catch flies, Campbell," Katie says sharply, and I feel my cheeks turn red.

"Uh… should we go?" I ask finally, hoping the previous moment where I stood there like a twat staring at Emily will have been forgotten.

"Back by 10:30?" I ask looking over to Mr. Fitch who just silently nods.

I open the door for them as Katie just passes through it without a simple thank you, but then again, I wasn't expecting one, and Emily reached up and kissed my cheek.

We head out to the car where Cook is out and leaning against it, trying to look cool, but instead looking like a nervous twat.

Serves him right for making me face Mr. Fitch alone.

"Katiekins! You're looking shaggable."

That was a compliment from Cook. It might not sound like one, so let me help you out by dissecting it:

Katiekins! You're looking shaggable.

Katiekins: Term of endearment

Shaggable: Good looking

Translated into normal person talk:

Katie! You look nice.

Katie rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, I know."

"You look nice," I said to Emily who just blushed and looked away cutely.

I opened one of the back doors for her and she stepped in, while Katie looked expectantly at Cook.

"Well?" She said harshly.

"What?" Cook looked confused.

"For fuck's sake, open her door Cook," I said, shaking my head and getting into the passenger seat.

"Ohhhhh, I get it." Cook opened the door and tipped his head slightly. Cheeky fucker.

"About time, I'm not a cheap date, wanker."

Cook climbed in and we set off, driving to the expensive restaurant in silence.

The restaurant was packed and a man who served as the host was standing there, forced smile and a snooty mustache.

I never knew that a mustache could be snotty, but his was.

He looked at us and I could already see him barely refraining to open his eyes.

Cook strode us with confidence.

"Reservation for four under the name, Cook."

"Cook? Is that a joke?" The man asked, in rude disbelief.

I didn't know disbelief could be rude.

I'm learning a lot of things tonight.

"No. It's not a joke, so if you would just stop being a prick and open your fucking booklet, you'll see we have a reservation," I say sharply as Emily reaches out and squeezes my hand in support.

He narrows his eyes at me and flips open his book.

"Ah, yes, here we are," he says with a tight smile.

He grabs menus and starts to walk away.

"Fucking dickhead," Cook mutters under his breath.

The waiter leads us to a small, nice looking table.

He drops the menus sloppily as we sit down, me facing across from Emily and sitting down next to Cook.

"He seemed nice," Emily says sarcastically.

He did not seem nice.

Not one bit.

In fact, to be honest, he seemed… what are the words I'm looking for?

Oh yeah! A complete fucking douchebag.

"Jesus, why is everything so fucking expensive?" Cook wonders out loud.

I kick his shin sharply, which is kinda impressive since I'm sitting next to him.

"Ow! What the fuck was that for Naomio?"

"Sorry, must have been a muscle spasm."

He's not wrong though, everything is really fucking expensive. Jesus, I'm gonna be completely broke by the end of this.

"Are you sure you guys want to eat here? These prices are ridiculous," Emily says, flipping through the menu, unimpressed with the outrageous costs.

"For fuck's sake," Cook says a little too loudly and we get annoyed stares from couples around us.

Cook looks sheepish.

A waitress comes over to us.

She looks bored and not impressed.

"Can I get you guys anything?" She sighs.

We order waters, trying to order alcohol and immediately getting shot down, despite Cook and I pulling out fake IDs.

When she finally comes back, she takes our orders without any interest or care.

"So…"

"Uh…"

We are sitting in silence. I'm holding Emily's hand across the table, Cook is stealing glances at Katie and then looking at his water, which has apparently caught his interest.

Who can blame him? Watching ice melt slowly into your water is _very_ interest.

Katie looks impressed, but every now and then she glances at Cook.

It feels like I'm in fucking middle school again, where the biggest drama was if one person kissed another, and dates were awkward and… _sweaty?_

"This is fucking boring," Katie says bluntly, and I can't help but laugh, because she's completely right.

This is awkward and boring because we are currently sitting in a restaurant too nice for our liking, waiting for food that might never come, and getting disgusted, yes, _disgusted,_ glances from a senile old man, a couple in their fifties who are probably on the brink of strangling us, and many others.

Me laughing loudly doesn't help the current situation.

The food finally comes and she pretty much just drops the plate in front of us, frowning and not really looking like she cares.

"This isn't what I ordered," Emily speaks up tentatively as the waitress begins walking away.

She continues to walk, despite being close enough to have heard.

"Hey, it's not what she ordered," I say louder.

"Oh."

She walks up and to the table.

"Is there a problem?"

"It's not what she ordered," I say politely, because I get it. I get that it is not easy being a waitress and having to force a smile and often times, you're not treated well.

I get it.

We don't belong.

Sometimes it feels like I never do.

Nowhere in this equation should teens like us be in here. I get it. I get it. I fucking get it.

But for tonight I just want to sit down, and eat a posh dinner with my girlfriend, and my best mate, and even fucking Katie.

"Oh."

Nothing happens.

"Can you maybe, get the right thing?" I ask, once again politely.

"It's gonna take a while."

"We're pretty much used to waiting forever by now," Katie says sharply.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She narrows her eyes.

"It means you've been a bitch," Katie says easily.

"Listen, I don't really know what you're implying."

That's strange, because I thought it was abundantly clear what Katie was implying.

I guess not.

Maybe if she had been in Mr. Dirken's English class, she might understand the meanings behind sentences better.

"I'm implying that you've been a cow, so has the wanker host and all these losers around us," Katie says loudly.

"You can leave."

There's a murmur of agreement from aforementioned losers.

"Just leave," I hear the senile old man say.

Jesus, calm down.

I'm about to say something when Cook jumps up.

"I just wanted a nice fucking double date with the girl I like. That's all I fucking asked for! Okay? I get it! Okay? I fucking get it. You don't like us. That's fine. Just don't be such fucking dicks. Yeah? Have you fuckers understood that? Let's just go."

He sits down before the senile old man has a heart attack.

The old guy is looking at us like we're trash and the couples around us look like they want to kill us, which I don't doubt they do.

We get out of our seats, as we hear voices telling us we have to pay for our shit.

We don't stop.

In fact, we march straight to the car.

"I don't know about you fuckers, but I want a burger," Cook says starting the car.

There's a murmur of agreement.

So we drive to some small burger place that looks kinda gross and kinda good. Don't ask me how that works out, but it just does.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Go back.

Rewind.

Cook's speech.

Did he say the girl he liked?

He said the girl he liked.

"You said you like Katie!" I say out loud randomly, looking at Cook who is giving me a look, (it's not a nice one).

He blushes, yes, James Cook, the guy who has told me about all his sexual conquests in great detail and made obscene thrusts at almost every girl, has just blushed.

Something is clearly wrong.

Wait.

Is Katie blushing too?

Jesus, she is.

"You guys are blushing. What the fuck is happening?" I ask, cringing at this unknown site.

Cook ≠ someone who blushes and has crushes

Katie ≠ someone who blushes and has a crush on Cook

So what the fuck is happening?

Emily is looking in disbelief too.

"So… uh, burgers," Cook says awkwardly and gets out of the car and Katie quickly follows.

I get out, still not sure what's going on and I open the door for Emily.

"I'm sorry that tonight didn't go as planned," I say as she grabs my hand and gently rubs her thumb over my knuckles.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. That was shit."

"Naomi," she grabs my chin softly. "It's cool. I didn't want to eat at some posh, stuck up place, anyways."

And I smile because she always manages to make me feel better, I feel less shit when I'm around her.

I feel amazing, really, because she looks at me like I matter and like I'm the most impressive and lovely person she knows, adoration in her chocolate brown eyes.

I know that I'm not lovely, and not really too impressive either, I mean, I don't even have a clue what I want to do with my life, but she looks at me like I am, and I can't explain to you how happy it makes me.

She nudges my side and we start to walk.

"How long do you think it'll take 'til they're shagging?" I ask, waggling my eyebrows like Cook.

"Naomi! That's my sister!"

"You're right, I apologize for insulting Katie's virgin status."

"Shut up," she laughs.

And in we walk into the near empty burger joint, but I already like the place more because there is no host with a snotty mustache with a vendetta against teenagers.

There is no waitress who huffs indignance towards us and doesn't like us and there isn't a senile old man or a snotty looking couple drinking some pricey wine.

There are just burgers and milkshakes and we split into two booths, using the excuse that we cannot fit into one, when the real excuse is I want to be alone with Emily, and I think Cook and Katie should talk.

I mean, they probably won't, but we're gonna stick them in a booth together and hope it goes well.

So now Emily is leaning into me in a cracked pleather red booth and she's leaning her head on my shoulder and I bring my hand up gently and swipe the fringe out of her eyes.

"You have really pretty eyes," I say, tilting my head down and looking into her warm eyes.

"I like your eyes," she says kinda shyly.

I kiss her, capturing her lips, because even in the dim light swinging precariously above us, she looks truly and utterly beautiful, and if I do not kiss her now in this old and slightly gross burger joint I might regret it for the rest of my life.

That sounds like an exaggeration, I know, but believe me when I say this, it is not.

So I do that, and she caresses my jaw softy- everything feels so soft and gentle and kind and lovely with her- and we deepen it. It's getting more and more passionate, I'd like to think it's not excessive, but it probably was.

I had always thought those couples were gross, the ones that made out everywhere, I mean _everywhere,_ but I kind of understand it now because I had never had someone that I wanted to kiss someone so badly.

It's pure ecstasy, really, pure joy and happiness and electricity, and her, just leaning her head on my shoulder is like all those Christmas mornings I longed to experience as a little kid, (Mum called all of that stuff bullshit and said that consumerism had ruined the whole point. I was of course completely confused, because a five year old does not have much experience with the word consumerism. I was a smart kid, but not _that_ smart).

We break away after we hear a polite cough and a waitress looking kinda sheepish.

"Uh, here are the milkshakes, what can I get you guys to eat?" She says with a smile. It being a burger joint, we order burgers.

It seemed like pretty simple math.

Burger place = burgers

Now, Emily and I were coupley, but we didn't do that cliché, share a milkshake with two straws thing.

No, no, no, the line was drawn at that, because that was _way_ too cheesy.

So, I start to drink mine, Emily going at a much faster pace then me, and by the time burgers arrive and we start to eat, she's done and I'm only halfway into mine.

"Naoms…" she says in a sing-songy voice.

"No."

"Nomi…"

"No way Ems," I say, using her nickname.

"Nomi…" she says again, dragging out the o.

"No.

"Please," she drags out the e.

"Oh, alright," I say finally, rolling my eyes.

"You're a big old softy," she teases, claiming my milkshake as hers.

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Face it Naomi, you're sweat and soft, like a big old marshmallow."

"… No…"

"… Yes…"

"Oh, fine! I'm a big old pushover and softy who will hand over the rest of my milkshake because it makes you smile. Happy?"

"Yes, very much so," she says with a cheeky smile.

I feel like a stalker.

I'm watching her so intently.

The way she eats her fries and burger, eating quicker than I had previously believed possible.

The way she drinks the milkshake and wets her sips after every couple of sips.

I feel like some creeper who rifles through your trash and keeps your old Garibaldi packets.

But it's hard to not watch her.

Everything she does has some kinda beauty to it.

And it's while I'm obsessively staring like no one else exists, because at this moment it doesn't feel like anyone else does, a check is set on the edge of the table.

"I hope you guys had a great meal. We hope to see you soon!" The waitress said with one of those over-the-top smiles.

I saw Cook and Katie were standing by the door, laughing, and… holding hands?

What?

Have I traveled to some alternate universe in which Cook holds a girl's hand and laughs and pays for her dinner and what?

What is happening?

I throw some money down and grab Emily's hand, pulling her up and into me.

"Are they holding hands?" She furrows her brow.

"I didn't think Cook knew how to do that."

I am so gonna tease him for this.

We walked back to the car, the happy couple… or, whatever they are, walking ahead as Emily and I swung our clasped hands back and forth, a huge stupid smile on my face.

I opened the door for Emily, who in return gave me a kiss on the cheek and climbed in.

We drove home with the radio playing loudly, dim streetlights passing by as we drove past nameless neighborhoods.

I could see Cook's smile, lightened up brilliantly, contrasting all those lights passing by in a beautiful blur.

I think that's what being a teenager is:

This beautiful, chaotic blur in which life goes by fast and all these moments that make you feel so incredibly alive will once be relayed as faded memories in old creased and bent photographs.

When I am old and have a head of thin, white hair, I think that I'd have quite a lot of photos.

They would remind me of all these times when I was young and all my small problems seemed so big, where the next history test consumed me with worry. They would remind of my best mate and his crooked smile and his cheering yell that resonates. They would remind me of that girl who once had that rich red hair. They would remind me how lucky I am to have people like that in my life.

This probably sounds unbelievably sad, like this is me telling you that these people will be gone after my teenage years, but that is not what I mean.

I mean that the teenage versions of us will be gone.

No, I plan on having these people in my life for a long time, yes, even Katie.

Anyways.

Cook is driving with that large smile and my eyes keep flickering to the back as I see Emily's eyes start to droop shut, and it warms my heart a bit because even the way she falls asleep is so incredibly gentle and peaceful.

It's like she's slowly wishing consciousness goodbye, making last minute promises to return soon and trying to be polite before exiting like a guest at an awkward expensive dinner party.

And when we get there, she's asleep, head leaning on the door, and Katie is looking out the window, already opening the door to get out.

And what is Cook doing?

He is looking directly at her as she opens the door and climbs out, his eyesight following her as she walks in front of the parked car, and then it clicks and he gets out.

It's strange in a way.

I've never really seen Cook stare at a girl unless it was at her butt or her tits or something else like that.

It's not that Cook isn't looking at Katie's butt or boobs, because he is, but he's looking at all of her.

And he's seeing all of it, all of her, and I think he likes it, her.

I get out and gently open Emily's door.

"Ems. Ems. Wake up, babe. We're here," I say softly as her eyes flutter and I see this look of adorable confusion.

"We're here?"

"Yeah, you fell asleep on the way back to your house," I whisper, trying to be careful and cautious because I feel like being too loud will break this fragile, dazed state she's currently in, and somehow hurt her.

She yawns and rubs her eyes, and before I know it, it's like she was never asleep.

She's awake and alert and has now gotten out of the car, standing in front of me with her hands on her hips.

"Hurry up slowpoke!"

"Oh, fuck off Fitch." I walk towards her, placing my hands on the soft fabric surrounding her hips, leaning into her.

I kiss her again, and she responds before she can continue to tease me, hands bunching up my shirt and tugging before moving them to my cheek, stroking carefully back and forth below one of my closed eyes.

She pulls away and I'm still breathless and my eyes are still closed, but I know once I open them she will be smirking at my reaction.

She's smirking at my reaction.

And before I know it, she's walking to the door, swaying her hips a little, teasing me.

And here comes Cook, this Chesire smile on his face, and I know he's trying to hide how much he actually likes Katie.

It's not like he can get away with it though.

This is not the first time that Cook has looked at Katie like that.

And so he walks over to me and we stand for a bit, making sure they get in safely, before we climb into the car.

"Twins Blondie! We've bagged ourselves twins!" He's trying to cover it.

"Nice try Cook, you are so crushing on Katie."

He looks at me sheepishly.

"Fine. But I still say this calls for some celebrating."

 **Hope that wasn't too bad. I know by now, it might be kinda tiresome that nothing big is happening, but I promise that soon it will.**

 **I really hoped that you guys liked it, and I'm glad I got this up because I wasn't sure if I was gonna be able to because it is my birthday today, so I was not sure when I was gonna get time alone, so I decided to do it first thing in the morning, but then again, I always just do it first thing in the morning.**

 **I hope that people are still reading this story.**

 **Anyways, it'd be really cool to tell me what you thought, especially since I'm very nervous about this story.**

 **And really, thank you for everything.**

 **Next chapter will be posted on Sunday, possibly Monday.**


	9. Chapter 9

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hey, how are you? How's life?**

 **So, here's the newest chapter! I'm currently on chapter 12 of the story. Thank you so for much for the birthday wishes and for reviewing and reading! I know that I sound like an annoying as shit, broken record, but I really do appreciate it.**

 **School starts in a few days, and I am wondering where the hell summer went and why it couldn't have stayed longer.**

 **But that's enough from me about that.**

 **So, away we go!**

 **Chapter 9:**

I wake up on Cook's couch, hanging off it awkwardly.

I look over at Cook.

He's asleep on the floor, empty bottle of vodka in his right hand.

"Jesus," I breathe and look around.

The table has spliffs out and cigarettes and more booze and DVDs for really shit movies, like Zombeavers and Sharktopus vs. Whalewolf, and yes, both of those are actual movies.

Crisps are spilling onto the floor from a table, they looked mashed and mangled.

"Cook."

Nothing.

"Cook."

Nothing.

"Cook."

"Leave me alone, I want to sleep," he rolls onto his side.

I get up from the couch and kick his side softly.

"Wake up you tosser!"

"Fine, just fuck off Naomio."

He gets up and looks around.

He starts to laugh.

"Jesus. That was what I call a celebration!"

All we did was drink, smoke, watch awful movies, and pass out, but at least it was fun.

I looked at the sad looking Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

It was the early days of Christmas, and Cook and I always went out and got a Christmas tree for his house. Like I said before, my mum and I don't really celebrate Christmas.

But Cook, Paddy, and I always went out and found one to take back to Cook's, because even though Cook didn't give a shit about Christmas traditions, and his mum wasn't even really around for them, either passed out, yelling, or with some new guy, "wrestling" in her room, Paddy loved the idea of Christmas.

So we went out to the woods in the beginning of December and strapped one to the top of my mum's car, driving back to his.

The tree had two ornaments that hung sadly off one of the branches, one made out of notebook paper from Paddy, and the other some kinda trinket that mum told me to put on their tree for Paddy.

I stretched and reached for the remote on the table, clicking on the TV.

An old Tom and Jerry episode came to life on the screen and my interest was immediately caught, as was Cook's.

I sat down on the couch, reaching for the mint container containing spliffs and pulling one out, grabbing a near by lighter and tucking the spliff between my lips, shaking the lighter and cupping my hands 'til the spliff is lit, taking a large drag.

Tom runs into the wall by the mouse hole and begins a sad little Tom-pancake.

"So Katie huh?" I say as Cook grabs the spliff from my hand, taking a pretty generous hit if you ask me.

"What about Katie?"

"Are you… dating, are you… talking about dating, are you… shagging?"

He scratches his head.

That's his giveaway.

"What is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Whenever you're hiding something, you scratch your head."

"Okay… so I may have… kind of… sort of… possibly…"

"Spit it out."

"Askedheronadate."

I grin evilly.

"I'm sorry, what was that? Could you please repeat yourself?"

"Adate."

"One more time. I'm sorry, I'm having trouble hearing you."

"I asked her on a date," he says quietly.

"So sorry, what?"

"I asked her on a date!"

"Sorry, didn't think I heard you right."

"Oh, fuck off."

"I think you're gonna be whipped!" I yell out, shoving him.

"Me?! Are you kidding me?" He's throwing his head back and laughing.

"What?"

I don't get it.

"Take a look at yourself!" He teases.

"Me?!" 

"Don't act so surprised Blondie! You are fucking whipped!" He makes a whip cracking sound.

"Oh, fuck off, prick."

I kinda smile though. It would have bothered me otherwise. I would have gone on and on about how I'm independent, and how I'm not tied down like all those fuckers.

But it's Emily.

How could I be mad at the idea of being hung on Emily?

It's not like he was wrong.

I want to do everything with her.

I think about her when she's not here.

I mean, look at me! I'm thinking about her now.

I'm just a pathetic whipped fucker.

And I couldn't be happier.

It sounds like Cook will be following in my footsteps soon.

I mean, this is Cook we're talking about. The closest he had ever come to asking a girl on a date before this was a girl named Dara Hiyerson, and even then it wasn't even really a date.

He asked her to hang out with us, and the only reason that had happened was because he felt bad he had inadvertently ruined her science fair project.

We were in the seventh and she had made a very cool looking and very original baking soda and vinegar volcano. Cook had decided that he could throw the perfect football spiral, while we were in the auditorium after school, messing around. All these projects were set up for the fair the next day, and poor, unsuspecting Dara Hiyerson with shoulder length brown hair and eyes a color I can't remember, just finished setting her project up.

So did Cook throw the perfect spiral, over to where I was stood, waiting for the ball?

No, Cook threw the ball too low, not spiraling what so ever, and it hit the paper-mâché, ruining it completely.

And what happened to Dara Hiyerson?

She yelled, very loudly, uttering a few choice curse words that I had not known she knew about.

To make matters worse, Cook and I attempted to fix it, trying to _shove_ and _force_ the paper back to make a volcano.

It did _not_ work, not at all.

So what did we do instead?

Well, this was the time when I was dating, or really, making out with Annie Wilders, and going on some pretty terrible dates where we pretty much just made small talk and kiss.

Cook said that we could all hang out together, and that we would pay as a way of saying sorry.

I thought she was gonna knee him in the balls.

Instead she said yes.

So that Saturday we awkwardly went into an empty movie theater.

It was clear within the first three minutes that the movie was boring, so we half watched, and also awkwardly talked.

Turns out Annie and Dara got on pretty well, and for a bit, things were going well. Cook and I were watching the movie and talking a bit, while Annie and Dara were talking a shit ton about I don't even know what.

This peace and calm lasted for a bit until they began to fight, for whatever reason, it was not clear to us, and Cook and I stared in horror.

So Annie and I went to the back of the theater and started to make out.

And it was nice. Looking back at it, it feels odd to think about how much I liked it when I didn't even feel an ounce of what I feel with Emily, but I guess that's just because Annie and I were really not made to be anything other than people who went on a few dates with each other and made out.

Halfway through the movie there was a tap on my shoulder, and Cook dragged me away from Annie Wilder's lips.

"You are not gonna leave me alone with Dara!" He shouted whispered.

"Well what am I supposed to do?!" I whispered angrily back. I could have been making out with a girl but instead my best mate was aggressively whispering at me and spitting a bit in the process.

"I don't know! But she doesn't want to kiss me or anything, so we're just sitting awkwardly as this shit movie plays!" He said louder.

"Well I don't know what to do!" I said even louder.

We continued to grow louder and louder until we were kicked out, all four of us.

We had to call Dara's mum on a payphone to come pick us up and drop us off at our houses.

She was not pleased.

Nor were Dara or Annie.

By the time we were dropped off at my house, Dara's mum was grumbling, Dara was crying for a reason that I do not know, and Annie was glaring at me for dragging her into this.

We broke up not long after.

But back to Cook and the TV.

We stayed like this, Cook occasionally panicking about going on an actual date, and then relaxing, and then panicking again.

It was not fun.

It was Monday, and Cook and I were sat on the bus, talking about shit.

At this point, you might be asking me about my quest to find those DVDs. Why didn't I give them to Emily yet?

Well, I hadn't found all of them yet, in fact I had only found three more since that day I found those five, not due to a lack of trying, mind you.

And I went through hell just to get those three. I went to god knows how many garage sales until one day I hit a fucking jackpot and found an August Rain, A Quarrel in Paradise, and Vast Blue Ocean.

An August Rain

The Incredible Adventures of Charles the Dog

Guilty of the Following

Vast Blue Ocean

Sea of Thoughts

A Quarrel in Paradise

Peering Off the Edge

Eying the Stranger

Lighting the Sky

Passion in Paradise

A New King

Heart of Silver

Sinking Ship

Orange Delusional

Night of Love

I wanted to give all of them to Emily at once, so it's gonna be a while.

But back to the bus.

We got off, jumping down the steps and almost like magic, Emily was standing there, waiting.

She appeared out of nowhere, like a magician's rabbit, but she was a lot cuter than a magician's rabbit.

I don't really see the hype around bunnies, though.

They got them hoppy legs and twitchy noses, and what's with all the carrots?!

Buffy the Vampire Slayer reference.

And they're pretty fucking tough too. I mean, the only thing to really take care of them is The Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail Reference.

But she was there, waiting, grabbing my arm, and we started to walk.

She looked over her shoulder.

"My sister's looking for you Cook," she said before turning her head forward and continuing to walk us to our place under the tree.

 _Our_ place. That's right. I just claimed that tree. No one else can go there. It's mine. I've claimed it.

Why?

Because. That's why.

We were sitting under the tree, and she was tracing lazy circles on my hand, moving her index finger softly over my knuckles.

Small stolen kisses and soft murmurs and stories about things and laughter.

These are all things that go along with Emily Fitch.

It is cold out, freezing to be honest, and Emily looks cute with her rosy red cheeks and mittened hands.

It's adorable, really.

She's leaning her head on my shoulder, and in a way it's kinda become our routine.

We sit under _our_ tree and we talk and laugh and spend time together and she leans her head on my shoulder, occasionally stealing kisses, and then I'll walk her to class.

I just feel happy when I'm with her.

And look at me now, I'm smiling like an idiot because this girl, this beautiful, smart, funny, kind, amazing, girl is leaning into _me_ and kisses _me_ and is _my_ girlfriend.

I remember when the Fitch twins first came to our school, back in third grade.

It was almost two years after my dad had left, and Tina had moved in and mum spent a lot of time either crying in her room or trying too hard to force a smile.

I remember once I was making cookies with my mum after one of her happy streaks and she broke down crying before we finished.

But, that's not important.

The Fitch twins were like a beacon of light in a way. Third graders are highly amused by twins, and expect them to read each other's thoughts and like the same things.

Cook was among them.

"I bet they think the same things… and are like, copies of each other," he said, as we were hanging upside down on the monkey bars and staring at the twins on the swings.

"Isn't that clones?" I laughed, feeling the blood flow to my head.

I could immediately see just how different they were.

The boys liked to follow Katie around, and the girls all wanted to be friends with her.

Emily always stood back quietly, reading a book or looking at her shoes (I always thought that was odd because shoes aren't that interesting).

I had never really seen the point with Katie though, to be honest. I always thought Emily was… I don't know, illuminating really. Prettier, kinder, better, I don't know. I was just drawn to her.

So here we were, hanging upside down, staring as Katie was talking to a few popular girls that had swarmed around her, and Emily was swinging softly back and forth on the other swing.

"Emsy, don't just sit there!" A lispy voice called out.

They were not far from us.

Katie got up and started to walk close to where we were, and we craned our necks to get a better view of them as they passed, especially as Emily walked somberly behind.

"My head hurts," Cook said laughing with a stupid expression on his face.

I don't know why, but this was the funniest thing to ever happy in the entirety of the world, and I began laughing hysterically.

Laughing + Hanging upside down = Not good

I fell off, landing on my side with a loud thud.

Cook continued to laugh, as I rolled around, clutching my arm, kinda laughing and kinda groaning in pain.

"Are you okay?" A soft, husky voice asked.

I looked up and saw Emily standing over me, concern in her eyes.

"Yeah, I was just being stupid," I said, very embarrassed.

"Oh. I'm glad you're okay though."

We were just kinda looking at each other, Cook still hanging behind me, until Katie called Emily over and I watched her walk over.

I would have never thought that I would luck out like I have.

Here's a letter I just wrote inside my mind for third grade me:

Dear Third Grader Naomi,

You know Emily Fitch, the really pretty and nice twin? Yeah well, when you're older, you're a lucky twat, and she ends up being your girlfriend.

Sincerely,

Senior Naomi

P.S. Yes, her lips are really soft and she kisses as well as you thought she would.

If you gave third grade me an infinite amount of time to guess who I would be dating as a senior, I would never have guessed that I would have been so incredibly lucky.

Mrs. Incart is crying again, but I think that there might not be a specific reason this time, I think she may just be sad.

I've learned something about looking at people.

Some look happy, some look sad, some look indifferent, some don't look like any of those things.

But sometimes the ones that look happy are sad, and I didn't really get why for a long time.

I think that a lot of people are probably sad when you think about it.

I really hope that I'm wrong though.

So Mrs. Incart is crying again, and I feel bad because it's one of those moments where I don't see a crazy science teacher with crazy make up who slurs her words. I see a woman who's sad, kinda broken really, who didn't know where her life went wrong, and doesn't know how to fix it.

Doesn't know if she can fix it.

I think that if you look close enough at people, you will find an entirely different person, sometimes.

Sometimes someone looks amazing and nice and kind, and they're only more amazing once you get to know them, like Emily for example.

Sometimes someone looks amazing, but when you get to know them, they're really not that great.

I like politics, I really do.

It's interesting, and to learn about injustices only infuriates me and it feels like my mum could be teaching that class sometimes.

But some days I don't pay attention, and instead I just stare at Emily, because it's really hard not to.

I'm lying on her bed, and she's curled into me, and my chest is rising and falling because I'm in the midst of calming down after laughing, and I'm trying to stop smiling like a loon, but every time I try to stop, it just comes back ten times bigger and brighter.

I kiss the top of her head.

"I'm gonna go get some water, do you want anything?" I ask sitting up and walking towards the door.

"I'm okay, thanks though."

I walked down the 17 stairs and into the kitchen, not really sure if it's polite to just grab a bottle from the fridge.

"Hello." I hear Jenna Fitch before I see her.

She's sitting at the dining room table, and she's looking at me intently.

"Hi Mrs. Fitch. Is everything okay?"

She has these brochures out, and a laptop is open, she looks distressed, her hair a bit messy, her eyes a bit tired.

I walk over to where she is, but when as I get closer, I see the brochures more and more, and I really wish I had never came down stairs.

Cancer

Chemotherapy Treatments

Dealing With a Child With Cancer

How To Help During Cancer

"Mrs. Fitch?" My voice is shaky, I can hear it despite me willing it to be strong, it's not.

She's looking at her hands.

"Mrs. Fitch?" I say stronger, I can feel my chest tighten and it feels like I can't really breathe to well.

I forgot about the cancer.

I always forget about the cancer.

"She was supposed to start chemotherapy soon, but… every time we mention it… she just sits there."

"It's not serious though," I say, because there is no way that anything can happen to Emily.

No response.

"Mrs. Fitch?" I say it in a hard voice, still shaky and nervous and I'm willing my chest to stop being so tight and for everything to stop hurting.

"It shouldn't be."

"Shouldn't be?"

She looks back up at me.

"She'll probably be… fine. But, she should start the treatment soon."

I refuse to believe that this is happening.

I refuse to believe that it is December, and that out of nowhere her cancer is suddenly something to be terrified of.

If I had forgotten about it, there was no way in hell it could be bad.

If she had not started treatment yet, there was no chance she could be really sick.

"Naomi."

Because I can't…

I…

She will be fine.

"Naomi."

She has to be.

"Naomi."

I look up at Mrs. Fitch.

"She'll be fine, but she needs to start treatment."

"Well, then why doesn't she?"

"She… I don't know, she just won't, _can't_ talk about it."

She sounds so tired. But I guess that she is.

"Maybe you could talk to her about it," she suggests.

I'm looking at my shoes, and I feel so little, so small and weak and awful.

Because it was real.

She actually has cancer.

She's actually sick.

Someone who isn't sick doesn't need treatment.

They don't have anything to treat.

I nod, softly and I try to swallow but I can't because everything hurts. If she would be okay, then why did Mrs. Fitch look so sad?

No.

She will be fine.

I start to walk back to the stairs, completely forgetting about the water.

"Naomi?"

I look back and see Mrs. Fitch, holding a brochure out.

"What's this?" I ask, grabbing it from her hand.

How To Deal With A Significant Other With Cancer

I look at her, and she's just nodding.

"I think you should read this."

Why should I read this? Why do I need to? She's gonna be fine. She has to be.

There is no need to _deal_ with it, really.

I just nod, and I can hear ringing, sharp and painful.

I walk up the stairs like a zombie, tucking the pamphlet in one of my jacket pockets.

"Hey, everything okay? It took you a while," Emily's sitting on the bed, smiling at me.

"I… uh… I had a talk with your mum."

"Oh? What about?" She asks, patting the spot next to her. I walk over, sitting next to her, looking at my hands.

"Treatment."

And it's quiet.

Like really quiet.

There is no laughter.

No stolen kisses or whisperings and gentle murmurs.

There is just Emily and just me, and silence.

"Oh." I can hear her swallow the word.

"Emily…" I say quietly, like any louder will break her into a million small pieces.

"Naomi, I… can't."

She can't what?

"What?" I look at her, she's picking at her comforter.

"You don't understand."

"Tell me. I want to know," I'm begging her.

"I can't."

"Why not?!" I can feel my face kind of squish, that odd kinda pucker when you're about to cry.

I'm an ugly crier, by the way.

"I'm scared! I'm terrified! I'm gonna lose my hair! I'm gonna be hooked up and, and, and, what if it doesn't work?! Huh?! What then?!" She's crying and I can feel my own tears streaming down my face.

"It will work! It's gonna work, and you're gonna be fine! You're Emily! Cancer is just… a fucking… pussy! It's nothing!"

"Is that what you believe?" She asks softly.

"That's what I know. You're gonna be perfectly fine. This is just… this is just a small… bump."

"Really?" It's so gentle and sad and quiet and I know that she's starting to believe me, starting to see what I see.

"Yeah."

And she hugs me, burying her face into my neck, and I place my head on top of hers, holding her, protecting her from everything, everything bad, everything that can hurt her.

And now it's late, the sky is dark, but I'll go home later, because right now, her head is on my chest and I'm stroking her hair and nothing else matters right now.

"So, even if my head is shaved… you'll still think I'm pretty?" I'd laugh, but she sounds so serious, so vulnerable, that I know she's not joking.

"I'd think you were gorgeous even if you wore a garbage bag, three teeth, and a beard."

She laughs, I can feel it.

"Really?" It's so scared.

"Of course. And you know I'll be here for you the whole time. I'm not going anywhere Ms. Fitch." I poke her side, and she cuddles more into me.

That was Monday.

Today is Friday, and I'm at Cook's house, as he goes through his closet looking for some clothes.

Emily will be starting her chemotherapy soon, sometime in January, after Christmas.

And I have chosen to stop thinking about it, because she will be fine.

She has to be.

"Is this good?" He's holding up a polo.

"Yeah, looks good enough."

"Good enough? It need to be like… perfect."

I don't think I heard him right.

Cook has never cared _this_ much.

But right now he's looking at me, looking for approval.

So I give it to him.

"It's perfection my friend."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

I can see his face flush with relief.

He's taking Katie out to a nice dinner, and he's been panicking about every small detail that runs through his mind.

It's odd to see him shitting himself over this.

Really, it is.

I mean it when I say that I have never seen Cook like this.

I should probably tease him more, but I didn't really feel like he needed that from me, and like that would be a very kind thing to do when he was already bricking it.

So instead I listened to him ramble, going on about how this date had to be perfect and how he wanted to impress Katie, and I felt like we were eight again, rambling about some show on TV, talking about the cartoon characters like they were extended family.

He just seemed so young and vulnerable.

I don't know, but that's just how it seemed.

And by the time he was neatly dressed, dabbing on nice cologne, which I didn't even know he had, he was sweating like we were in a 100 degree desert.

We walked out of the house, getting into the car and driving to the Fitch house, Cook gripping the steering wheel and taking deep breaths.

"I'll be fine. It's gonna be totally fine, great in fact," he kept on repeating it, and I was sitting watching him, not entirely sure what the fuck was happening.

Jesus, he's sweating so much I'm surprised he's not glued to the seat.

I got out, Cook doing the same, still looking panicked.

I waited for him to knock on the door, but as the time passed it became clear he was too preoccupied trying to wipe all the sweat off his forehead, so I did it instead.

Mr. Fitch opened the door, smiling and gesturing us in.

I watched Cook tentatively step in, looking around nervously.

"I'm gonna go upstairs, is that alright?" I asked Mr. Fitch, coming to the realization that I did not have to suffer through this awkward and uncomfortable situation that Cook currently found himself in.

I have already had my fair share of Mr. Fitch's warnings.

He nods before turning back to Cook and I walk up the stairs, smiling evilly at Cook as he catches my eye.

I knock softly on the door, before being given the all good.

Emily was lying on her bed, reading through a rather large looking textbook, which she instantly cast aside in favor of me, which was good, because I would have been offended if she had chosen that over me, her girlfriend.

I never got tired of that.

Being able to call her my girlfriend. Being able to sling my arm around her and kiss her goodnight, or the way my heart beat so much faster whenever she was there. The way I always felt better when I was around her.

So my _girlfriend,_ was sitting on her bed, cross-legged.

I would really have liked to say that when I saw the way she was sitting, the first term that came to mind was cross-legged, rather than criss-cross applesauce.

What can I say? Criss-cross applesauce just has a nice ring to it.

I am obviously not ready to be an adult.

The world should be terrified that not only do I drive, but that I am technically an adult.

So I laid myself next to her, jumping onto the bed in what was probably the least graceful way possible.

It shook, as did she with laughter.

And she just looked so beautiful, in a pair of sweatpants and no make up on, how could I not kiss her?

My lips captured her and I was slowly pulled on top of her, and the kissing continued, growing more intense as the time went on, my lips travelling to her neck and sucking harder and soothing the same spot, trying not to leave a mark, but knowing I would inevitably leave one.

I heard a loud noise and it sounded like someone with heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.

Remember the whole leave the door open thing?

I did.

So what did I do?

Well the idea of Mr. Fitch walking in and seeing me on top of his daughter, kissing her neck while she kept her hands on the small of my back was not something I liked.

Scotty Renold, the poor unsuspecting bastard.

So instead, I pulled away and moved quickly away, falling on the floor harshly with a loud crash.

Mr. Fitch paused and stuck his head in the doorway.

"Is everything alright in here?"

Emily for her part, was trying to not laugh, and looked a bit flustered.

"Yep, just fell," I squeaked, very scared at the idea of him mangling me into a pulp.

I feel like Mr. Fitch was a very kind man, one who didn't enjoy hurting others, especially girls.

I also feel like all of that would go out of the window if he caught me in the position I had been in minutes ago.

He seemed to accept this and walked away.

Emily looked down at me and started to laugh.

And I, well I just stayed on the floor for a bit, not really sure what had happened.

I slowly got up and sat on the bed, staring at the doorway, waiting for Mr. Fitch to come back, hoping he wouldn't.

I looked at the bedside table, and saw that the aforementioned large, boring looking textbook was actually one of those books filled with information about colleges.

I grabbed it, looking at the cheesy cover of students laughing in front of a large, intelligent looking, university.

"I was looking through it, trying to see if there's anything that really interests me," Emily voices as I open it, flipping through pages rapidly.

"You know what you should do? Just flip to a random page and choose a random college," I said, laughing at the idea that a person would just do that, making one of the biggest decisions just like that.

It was also kinda ballsy, but not something for me, or Emily for that matter.

"Has anything got your eye?" She asks, looking over my shoulder at the pages rapidly passing.

"No," I said simply, because nothing had. And that was scary.

By now I should already know what I want to do and what interests me, and how I can get a good job and make my mum proud and all those other pressures.

And I didn't have any of it figured out.

"What interests you?"

Not much really, to be honest.

Injustice did, but I don't really know how I can succeed doing so.

"Politics? I don't really know."

Emily sensed my discomfort and tried to change the subject, reassuring me that it was okay that I didn't really know what I was doing, because in reality, no one ever really does.

"So, are you excited for Christmas?" She asked, and I wanted to laugh at the obvious change in topic, but I decided to leave it.

"Uh, I don't really celebrate Christmas."

"What?!" She was shocked, looking at me like I had just admitted that I enjoy touching myself while listening to Nickelback in a dark basement.

I don't. I promise.

Because, a.) That's creepy as fuck, and b.) Nickelback is shit.

I bet you someone out there has that fetish.

Jesus, that's scary.

Anyways.

"Nah, my mum was never big on it, something about it 'bout consumerism ruining it."

"But… it's Christmas." She looked like a puppy that had just been kicked.

"We just aren't big on it," I said sheepishly.

"So you don't want to do anything for it?"

We didn't really do anything for our one-month anniversary. We just ate takeaway at my house and watched movies.

I could tell that this meant a lot to her.

"Well, I didn't say that."

"Really?" Her face lit up like how I imagine a nice, big Christmas tree would.

"Yeah, we can swap gifts or do whatever you usually do."

"My family always has this big family dinner on Christmas, and my dad always makes us leave milk and cookies out, and carrots for the reindeer, even though we all stopped believing years ago. And then James always wakes all of us out, and we sit around the tree and exchange gifts and stay in out pajamas all day," she continued to go on and on about Christmas, a large smile on her face the whole time.

And it was really cute to see her go on about this holiday I didn't really knew about, something she obviously loved.

But I also had an impossible task.

I had never really bought Christmas presents, save for giving mum some kinda hippie thing (even though we didn't celebrate Christmas, she usually got me some small little thing), giving Cook something (we exchanged gifts every year), giving Paddy some neat toy, and also pitching in with Cook to buy some gifts to give Paddy as Santa.

Just because it wasn't important to me didn't mean I didn't care about helping someone else enjoy it.

This year, Cook and I were saving up for a bike to give Paddy as Santa.

Despite his mum being rich, they didn't get anything.

But back to the girl lying down next to me as we watch a movie on her computer (one of the Harry Potter ones).

I had no fucking clue what I would get her.

I would like to give her the movies, but there was no way I could find them by Christmas, so that was a definite no.

I would have to think of something that would mean a lot to her.

But for now I decided to stop thinking about that, and instead hold her close to me, hearing the beginning of rain coming down softly against her roof, a light pitter patter hitting gently, like it was scared to hit any harder.

My jacket was on the floor, my shoes kicked off next to it, and we were leaning against propped up pillows, Emily cuddled up into my side, watching the movie so intently, like if she looked away for even a second she would miss some life changing event happening to Harry.

There are so many moments in life that you know, you just know that when you're older, you'll think about them and smile without even realizing it.

For example, this moment. I know that one day when I am old I will look back on the night where the rain hit her roof and that amazing girl was curled into me, and nothing else mattered.

She was incredible, everything about her.

But you're probably getting tired of me being a mushy twat, so I'll stop, for now.

Although I will say this:

It was hard to think of too many times in which I was as happy as I was in this moment with her.

 **Okey-dokey.**

 **So there we go.**

 **Those movies mentioned, Zombeavers and Sharktopus vs. Whalewolf are actually real, like someone was actually like, "Zombie… beaver… zombeavers…"**

 **But, hey, who am I to judge?**

 **The next chapter will be posted on Wednesday or Thursday. Also, just to let you know, the time that I post will change. I usually post at around two in the morning, but I will start posting at night instead, so you can probably expect a new chapter on Wednesday night from where I am, (sorry I know that might fuck things up, but I have to start sleeping earlier or else I'll fall asleep when I am not supposed to).**

 **Anyways, thank you for everything, next chapter is during Christmas time.**

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you thought.**


	10. Chapter 10

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Troy and Abed in the morning!**

 **Hey. So yes, school has started, and I am already prepared for the summer. Thank you so much for reviewing and favoriting and following and reading. I know, I know, I'm a broken record. I just started working on Chapter 13.**

 **As for Emily's cancer, I never did say what type it was, but I would say that she has leukemia. I am doing a bit of research on chemo and what happens, so please, if anything is wrong, or if you feel like something could be better in terms of that, feel free to tell me, and I will be happy make changes. The last thing I would want is to be insensitive or treat it way too lightly.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 10:**

Cook going on a date with Katie and me lying with Emily as the rain hit her roof was two week ago.

His date had gone well, but they were currently, as Cook would say, pussyfooting around.

They had two more dates, and whenever they were around each other, they were kinda shy.

I have never seen Cook or Katie being shy in my whole entire life.

That was always my thing or Emily's thing.

They had always been the loud ones, the ones who never acted shy or vulnerable.

Cook was always the one who would suggest that we steal candy when we were kids, or that we should see if we could get a lost ball back from neighbors.

Not that I was against it, it was just he was always loud and out there, and sometimes I just sat back, which is just one of the many reasons our friendship works so well.

But I digress.

They were nervous, and I found the whole thing to be funny, to be honest.

Like, have you ever seen Cook blush?

Yeah, me neither until recently.

If this happens, it's only a matter of time before complete word destruction or pigs fly, or something else that's not supposed to happen happens.

You get the point.

It's nearing Christmas.

The neighbors have their lights set up all around their roofs and all those Christmas specials are being showed on repeat, like some never ending cycle.

Cook and I had bought Paddy his bike, black with bright red flames illuminating on the sides.

"My little bro will not have a pussy bike," he had said as we looked at all the bikes arranged neatly in a row.

So we got Paddy the least pussy bike we could find.

Or, I guess, Santa had gotten Paddy the least pussy bike his elves could make.

My gift had been two action figures, not an aquaman one, because you know, fuck aquaman, and a supersoaker.

I think Paddy will be quite pleased with his non-pussy gifts.

I had gotten Cook some spliffs, good shit, not any crap that the stoners at school carried around in their little baggies. I had gotten him some other shit too, but it's not really important, or at least, not right now.

No, I had bigger priorities:

I had no gift for Emily.

And no, it's not because I'm a lazy prick who hasn't even bothered to look, despite knowing just how much this means to her.

No, I've looked.

I've looked for whatever I thought she would like.

But here's the problem:

There are plenty of things she likes. There are many.

But none of them are perfect.

It has to be perfect

It has to be something that puts a smile on her face so large, that it stays for the rest of the day.

But where am I gonna find that?

It's currently the 21st.

And I'm screwed.

How the hell am I gonna find something so truly incredible for her in just four days?

I hate to say it.

I really hate to say this.

But I will:

I need a Christmas miracle.

Sorry, it was just so fucking cheesy.

Jesus, I mean, a Christmas miracle? Really Naomi? For fuck's sake I've gone soft.

Throw me in a cup of hot chocolate or roast me over a fire, 'cause I'm just a big fucking marshmallow.

So here I am, in a fucking shopping mall with Cook, stuck with all the other tossers looking for presents.

Oh, and guess what:

Cook is going shopping for a gift for Katie.

Oh how I teased that fucker for that.

He tells me I'm whipped?

I mean, I totally am… but that's not the point.

"What about this?" He asks, pointing to a sunglasses kiosk.

"Why the fuck are sunglasses being sold? It's winter dipshits."

"Alright… what about that?" He's pointing at a store selling makeup.

"What kinda message would that send her? Hey, here's makeup, you need it. She's bloody gorgeous, she doesn't need any of that shit."

"That?" He's pointing at a store selling phone cases.

"No," I say simply, getting really tired of walking around, trying and willing to find some perfect present that probably doesn't even exist.

Nothing would ever be good enough.

Cook had settled on a nice looking pair of earrings for Katie.

And I had settled on nothing but air.

So basically, I was fucked, and not in a good sense.

I had nothing, nada, zip, nil… some other way to emphasize that I had not a thing and was completely, and royally screwed.

It was snowing as I walked outside to Cook's mum's car.

The ground covered in white that looked admittedly magical and wonderful. It was coated and looked very… pretty I guess, but I don't know if that's really the way to describe it.

But pretty is as close as I think I'll be able to get, well, that and magical, even though that sounds cliché.

I had begun to realize that sometimes clichés weren't that bad, really.

Had you asked me a while ago I would have gone into detail telling you how terrible and stupid they really are, but by now I had experienced a lot more of them, and I realized that some of the things that made me happiest were clichés.

Stargazing with Emily, building snow forts with Paddy and Cook, listening to the rain as it lulled me to sleep.

I might have objected to them being clichés, but I was beginning to see that it was okay to accept that the things that made me happy were ridiculously cheesy.

Cook and I got into the car and we began to drive over to his house, the snow still falling lightly and the streets had snowmen sitting in front of almost house, and there were kids throwing snow balls and yelling out and making snow angels and all those other snow day things.

We walked into the house, the warm air a welcome change to the bitter cold that hit hard.

The few presents were waiting under the tree, wrapped and ready for Paddy to tear them open on Christmas morning. His non-pussy bike was hidden in Cook's closet

The tree was kinda slumped, with a few more cheap and last minute ornaments that Paddy had enthusiastically put on, practically jumping and I felt kinda bad, because who knows where their mum was at the moment, probably yelling at someone somewhere else, and I felt like kinda a let down.

Paddy deserved one of those huge trees that hit the ceiling and was covered in beautiful, carefully crafted ornaments, and there should be gifts and gifts galore waiting for him under the tree, his for the taking.

He and Cook deserved a mum who wasn't drunk or yelling and they deserved a dad who was there and they deserved a lot more.

But I guess most people do.

Mrs. Incart deserved a husband who loved her and Mum deserved to always be happy, and Emily deserved an amazing Christmas gift, and to not have cancer, but I guess no one deserves that.

But it's hard to think about.

It really, truly is, because she means so much to me, she does, and I don't want to see her be sick and be in pain.

But, I really don't want to talk about it now.

I don't think I can before I start to feel sick.

But I'm sitting on the couch in Cook's house, and now all I can think of is Emily.

How the hell did I go 18 years without being her girlfriend?

I don't think I could go one day without even thinking about her anymore.

I think about her when she's not around, and when she is, everything makes sense, but I'm not really sure why. And I would do anything to make her smile, and I don't care that I've watched the Princess Bride so many times because she always loves it, and it makes me happy when she's happy and I want to spend so much time with her and she makes me feel like I matter, even if I don't.

Does that make sense?

In the grand scheme of things, I do not matter, but when I'm with her, I feel like I do.

There are not many people who make me feel like that.

And we've been dating for over a month, and I don't know when I've ever been happier and…

Is this love?

I think I love her.

Wait…

I love her.

I love her.

I love her.

I love Emily Fitch.

Holy fuck.

I, Naomi Campbell, love Emily Fitch.

"Holy shit, I love her," I breathe out, smiling at my realization.

Cook whips his head over to where I am, looking at me intently.

"What'd you say Blondie?" He asks, and I can hear his smile.

"I love her," I say a bit louder.

How did I not realize?

How the hell was I that oblivious?

"Fucking called it," he says before taking another sip, and I turn to see his huge smile, grinning and kinda laughing, like he can't believe I just figured it out.

"Took you long enough."

"I love her," I say again, because it's the only thing I can really think of.

I love her, I love her, I love her, I love her.

I'm in love with her, and…

What if she doesn't feel the same way?

Oh, fuck.

What if I tell her I love her and she doesn't feel the same and she rejects me because the whole thing is awkward and then she starts to scream at me because I'm just a fucking twatting idiot who fucked everything up because I shared my feelings and I'm labeled a tosser and she stops speaking to me and then I live a very unhappy life because I love her and she doesn't love me and-

"Naomikins."

-she finds someone way better who probably deserves her more and I'm just the idiot who's pining after her while she's probably laughing 'cause I'm such a fucking loser and-

"Naomio."

-and she ends up hating me because I ruined everything and she won't ever love me and-

"Blondie!"

I break from my silent panic and look over at Cook who's looking at me like I'm crazy, which I'm convinced I may actually be because my thoughts are racing at speeds that shouldn't be possible and I don't even understand what's going inside within my own head.

"You look like you're going insane over there."

Thank you for pointing out the obvious Cook. Please, inform me what color hair I have. Or, maybe the color of my eyes.

"What if she doesn't feel the same way?"

Now, here's when a good friend would start to reassure their friend, listing off reasons why the other person feels the same way and telling them that the other person loves them a shit ton.

Here's when Cook started to laugh.

Like, actually laugh, turning over to me every few seconds to look at me and start laughing again.

"You done, prick?"

"Are you fucking serious? 'Doesn't feel the same way,' Jesus, you are really fucking blind, and this is coming from me. She fucking loves you, Naomio."

"Really?" I ask, grinning like an idiot, kinda smug and overly enthused at the prospect of her loving me.

"Yeah. Fuck knows why."

I punched his arm.

"I'm great."

"Ehh… You're okay."

"Oh, fuck off."

And still I was smiling like a fucking moron because I couldn't believe how lucky I was.

Imagine that.

Emily might just love me back.

What a lovely thought.

To think that such a truly magnificent and incredible human could love me as much as I love her.

I can feel it.

I can feel my love for her.

Is that odd?

The more I think about it, it just… courses through me.

I love her.

I love her with every fiber of my being.

How the fuck am I going to tell her?

And so here I am, it's Christmas Eve, and I haven't found a gift for Emily, and I haven't told her I love her.

It has to mean something, the gift.

I want it to show her just how much I love her. I want her to be able to tell.

So I could give her a book she wanted, or bows she once looked at in a mall, I could give her some nice earrings, or maybe a nice dinner.

None of those gifts were wrong.

But they just weren't what I wanted to give her.

And so I was lying on my bed, racking my brain for anything and coming up with nothing, when something caught my eye.

It was on the top of my drawer, kinda hidden and secluded, not forgotten about, but not being given any attention.

The necklace Tina gave me.

Let me describe it to you. I'm going to warn you though, I do not think that this will be very interesting, or that you will enjoy me describing this necklace in detail, but here we go:

It was a rather nice looking, poshy sort of necklace, and on it hung a beautifully crafted, small heart, intricate designs running through it, emphasizing the heart and it's beauty.

It was very nice looking.

And it was also the perfect gift.

Now, you might be wondering why I would give Emily a necklace that someone I loved a lot gave to me, and was the only thing she really left me, well that a book with all these child like drawings.

I am not a huge fan of jewelry. That is just a fact. And being given the necklace was just a reminder that Tina was losing her memory of me as she got older and older.

But she had given me the book one year for my birthday.

And to me, that is Tina.

When I think of her, when I hear a song that reminds me of her, or I see a book she used to read to me, I think of the book she gave me, because of all the stuff there is, that is the one that I think represented our relationship the best.

Just these innocent, curious drawings, scribbles really, filling page after page and just… sweet.

The necklace means a lot to me too, though, it really does, because even if I didn't like jewelry, and she was forgetting about me, she still cared for me enough to want to give me something hat obviously meant a lot to her.

And so, I want to give something that means a lot to me to Emily.

Because I'd like to think that maybe Tina did not give me the necklace so I could wear it, but maybe she gave it to me so I could give it to someone so truly incredible.

Maybe it was never meant for me.

Maybe it was meant for someone who would mean a lot to me, like the necklace meant to her.

I'd like to think that maybe that was the necklace's role.

And so I sit up enthusiastically, grabbing the necklace, almost tripping and falling flat on my face like a twat.

And so I looked around, practically dumping out every one of my drawers looking for a small little box.

Eventually I found one, black and a bit big, but it would due.

I don't think that she would really care about the box, or at least I hoped not.

I don't think I need to start panicking about finding the perfect box, and I don't think you need to listen to me panicking about finding the perfect box.

 _I bet Emily has a perfect box._

Goddammit inner, horny, subconscious!

Sorry about that.

Anyways, back to boxes.

Not her box.

Oh, fuck now I'm thinking about her box.

The box for the present.

That box.

So anyways…

I put the present down on my dresser, and climbed into bed, excited like all the kids who were gonna go out and check their stockings first thing in the morning.

I woke up and looked out the window.

Snow was falling and it felt like Christmas to me, kinda magical and sweet.

Mum was just sitting at the coffee table like it was nothing, sipping tea and smiling, flipping through pages of the newspaper.

Part of me thought she might have been completely oblivious to the fact that it was Christmas.

"Merry Christmas love," she said between sips.

"Merry Christmas mum," I said, kissing the top of her head and going out the door, walking through the snow and to Cook's house.

I could hear all those little excited squeals and it made me smile to think of all the people who must be so incredibly happy today.

Paddy was still in his pajamas, sitting on the couch and practically bouncing.

Cook was just smiling.

"Naomi! It's Christmas!" Paddy sprung up and clung to me, squeezing me and repeatedly telling me it was Christmas like I didn't already know.

"Look what Santa got me!" He ran over to the bike and started to hug it like it was the most magical thing he had ever seen in the entirety of the universe.

He had obviously not seen Emily Fitch.

"Cook got me a huge thing of comic books!" He said, gesturing to the ginormous stack of them under the tree.

I could tell he was waiting for what I had for him, so I handed him his presents, and he ripped the open, squealing and laughing and smiling so brightly with unadulterated joy that it was all I could do to not just grab him and kiss his cheek repeatedly.

I passed Cook his presents, and he hugged me, passing me his.

I laughed when I saw a few neatly wrapped spliffs among them.

And there we were, happy family, watching some Christmas movies and laughing at all the right parts and looking occasionally at the snow falling in abundance.

This is Christmas to me.

It's currently 6:47, and I'm walking over to Emily's, dressed nicely, present in hand.

The red door now has a green wreath, and it's almost like the door has finally found a partner.

Mrs. Fitch opens the door and pulls me into a hug, it's tight and kinda awkward for me, but I accept it all the same.

The tree is huge, Christmas tunes blaring and a pleasant smell coming from the kitchen, and all the kids, yes including Katie, are wearing matching festive jumpers.

And Emily still looks so cute, a Christmas bow and a large smile, and I'm hugging her, hugging her and overwhelmed with how much I love her, truly love her.

And then we're eating dinner, and we're talking about Christmas, and I'm trying to pretend that James isn't staring at my tits, or Katie doesn't look sad when she hears about the lack of Christmas at the Cook's, and how Cook stayed at home with his brother instead of coming to dinner because Paddy wasn't feeling well.

And Rob is smiling so largely and Jenna is passing around the food proudly, and Emily is holding my hand, and James is asking me pervy questions.

It all feels nice.

Different, but nice.

Jenna is now washing up, and Rob and James are watching TV, which doesn't really seem fair since she did the cooking, but I guess that's just how it was in this house.

And I think Katie is about to go to her room, so I give her the present Cook had gotten her, and I can't help but notice the way it seems like she genuinely smiles for the first time today, and she passed me back something for him, and then Emily's dragging me upstairs, into her room, and she shuts the door quietly, hoping no one will notice, and turning to me, she smiles.

And now I'm sitting on the bed, and she grabs something of her own, wrapped neatly.

"Okay, so you go first, or I go first?" She asks, sitting cross-legged across from me.

"I'll go first," she says before I can answer, and she's practically jumping as she passes me the small box.

And I open it carefully, unpeeling the tape and trying to make sure she knows I appreciate it, because I do.

There's a necklace, a tiny metal record hanging from it, and when I bring it up to my eye, I can read the inscription:

E + N

Forever

And it's in a little heart, and it makes me smile.

"And that's not all," Emily says, but I'm still distracted by the necklace.

She puts a patch right in front of me, it's a small, red heart.

I look up at her and she's smiling shyly.

"I thought you could sew it on to your jacket… if you want. It's totally up to you. I mean, really, like… don't feel like you have to… it's totally fine if…" I cut her off with a kiss.

"I love them. Thank you Ems." I put the necklace over my head and smile my biggest, most cheesy smile at her, loving the way she instantly looks happier.

And I almost said I love you, Ems. But I'm too afraid of what might happen if I tell her, so instead I don't.

"Uh… here." I pass her the box, which she opens quickly.

"Naoms… it's beautiful…" And she looks completely in awe, like Paddy with his bike.

"Uh… it was my great aunt's. She moved in after my dad left and when mum was uh… well, she moved in and she would take care of me. She gave me this when she died," I say softly, and her eyes are brimming with tears and she's smiling and looking at the necklace like it's the most precious thing she has ever held.

The most precious thing I have ever held is her.

"I can't take it Naoms…"

And I knew she would say that.

"Emily… I really want you to have it."

"Are you sure? Naomi, it obviously means a to you."

Yes, because I can't think of anyone who should wear it more than you.

Yes, because when you smile so brightly it makes me happy, and when Tina smiled, I felt happy, so you deserve it.

Yes, because you mean so much to me.

Yes, because I love you.

"Yes."

And so she clasps it on, and it looks so beautiful on her, and now we're hugging again, and she's buried her head into my neck, a few happy tears trickling onto my neck, and I feel everything right now.

I just feel so much love, so much fucking love.

And I don't mean the love that's thrown around loosely, the word eventually having no meaning if you use it when you don't mean it.

I mean full on, scary and intense, and incredibly beautiful, love.

And I want to tell her so badly.

Because for 18 years I have been scared of rejection. I am scared that no one will care, that no one will agree with what I say and they will all laugh.

But if I had let my fears gotten in the way, I wouldn't have kissed Emily, and I wouldn't have asked her on a date, and I wouldn't have asked her to be my girlfriend.

"I love you," I say it so gently, because sometimes that's how it is. Sometimes love is just so gentle and sweet.

And I can feel her grip me a little tighter, and there's a bit of a catch in her throat.

"I love you too. I love you so fucking much."

Do you know that feeling you get when you have the perfect day? You hit all those green lights when you were in a rush, and your boss wasn't a dick and was actually kinda pleasant, and that thing you didn't want to do was cancelled, and your favorite movie is playing on TV, and you catch it just in time.

I feel like I have had ten perfect days in one.

It feels like everything.

And I don't think I can think of a time I was so happy, with this girl who held me and this incredibly amazing person who loved me.

What a thing, to be loved by someone who means the world to you.

It is a feeling I whole-heartedly recommend.

And I say it again.

"I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you."

Because I can.

"I love you too Naoms."

Because I can hear that every time in response.

The snow is falling, and the Christmas movies are making their last appearances for the year, and Christmas jumpers are being pushed back into the deep dark corners of the closet, and it seems a bit sad, for it to be ending, but then I look down.

I look at the girl who is asleep with her head on my chest, and I don't think I can be sad.

I love this girl so fucking much.

 **Yep.**

 **I really do love Christmas.**

 **So, like I said, I am currently working on chapter 13 of the story. Also, I learned something:**

 **I am not very good at writing sex scenes.**

 **One is coming soon, and really, I give props to anyone who can do it, because I seriously suck at them. I'll leave it in anyways, but if you read it and cringe and feel awkward, I'm sorry. Maybe you might like it, but I guess we'll see.**

 **So, the next chapter will be posted Sunday night. I would do it on Friday or Saturday, but I will not be able to until Sunday.**

 **Also, a lot of development in the cancer is coming soon, which is probably considered bad, but I promise that unlike Jess Brittain, I am not sadistic, so… take that as you will.**

 **Thank you so much for reading. Seriously. I really do appreciate it, and it puts a huge smile on my face to think that people are reading this. It makes me unbelievably happy.**

 **Let me know what you thought!**


	11. Chapter 11

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hey. What's up?**

 **So I am still working on chapter 13, but I will try to get that done soon. This chapter involves a sex scene- I know, brace yourselves for the awkwardness. It also involves a lot more of the cancer.**

 **This takes place from Emily's pov. I'm really nervous about it.**

 **Thank you once again for everything.**

 **So, away we go!**

 **Chapter 11: Emily**

The little intricate heart is hanging proudly from my neck.

She gave it to me three weeks ago, and I haven't gone a day without wearing it since then.

Naomi.

Naomi Campbell, blue eyes, blonde hair, soft smile, sweet lips, sarcastic replies, awkward and adorable, and…

My girlfriend.

She would go on and on about how lucky she is, how beautiful I am, how incredibly out of her league I am.

But I would disagree in a heartbeat.

Because I have been practically obsessed with her since we were little kids, and when she fell off the monkey bars from laughing and I realized that she was not like all the other little kids.

Does that make sense?

Christ Emily, I sound like some kind of obsessed psycho.

But, back to what I was saying.

And despite my fascination with her, I had never really known her, aside from a few conversations and a few times I looked at her in class when she wrote, and her tongue peeked out through her lips and she looked up every few minutes, furrowing her brow before turning back down and writing more.

For fuck's sake, if I didn't sound obsessed before, I definitely sound like one now.

But imagine my surprise, and true glee when she turned up at my house, showing up and making me laugh and smile and…

Forget.

Forget that I was supposed to be miserable and terribly sad and I was supposed to stop functioning, and I should be quieter now and I should cry all the time, because yes…

I had cancer.

I, Emily Fitch, _have_ cancer.

And it's the hardest thing to admit.

And you might be wondering how, but I'll explain.

Because now I have to accept that things are different, that maybe life will be different and harder and I'll be ill and quivering and I'll be puking and I'll go bald, and I'll be…

Well, anyways.

But she made me forget about all the things I was supposed to be, and allowed me to be all the things I wanted to be:

Happy, free, I felt alive for the first time in days, despite the fact that I was supposed to be dying.

But we're all dying.

Slowly decaying, and I guess that maybe this means I'll go faster, but I hope not, but I guess everyone would hope not, so I guess that was a bit stupid.

It's hard though, to watch all the girls around me twirl their hair around, the hair I will inevitably lose, and it's hard to see them talk about the future, when I'm not entirely certain if there will be one for me.

And I hate the pity.

I hate them looking at me and feeling sorry, I hate that all these people suddenly started caring, and I hate that they think that I won't make it, and they act as though I am already dead.

And it's so goddamn unfair.

But when I'm with Naomi, I don't feel pity, and I don't feel sick, and I'm not sad, and I don't feel small and weak.

No, I don't feel like the doormat or like some quiet girl.

I feel big, important.

I feel loved.

And I love her. I love her so fucking much that I wonder how I could have possibly functioned without her in my life like she is now.

I feel safe and I love the way she laughs and how she always gives me her jacket and how she looks at me.

She looks at me like there has never been anyone else.

Do you know how that feels?

To be looked at like you're the only thing that matters?

I'm sitting on my bed, trying to concentrate on my book, but all I can do is run my hands through my hair.

I might as well while I still have it.

I start chemo in a week.

One measly week.

And you know that feeling you get, or you got, those last few days of summer, when school is about to start, and you're so nervous, and you're just dreading every moment of it, and everything is just so scary and you're just bricking it?

I feel like that times ten.

I've done my research, and I know that I may lose my hair, and I may not, and honestly, that alone makes me scared.

And I know that looks don't matter, but I just feel so… vulnerable at even thinking about being bald.

I mean, what if Naomi just takes one look at me and feels the need to vomit all over the place and it just like, disgusted and dumps me?

What is she doesn't want an ugly girlfriend?

Oh god.

I know I'm overreacting, but it's just so scary.

I mean can you imagine?

I mean, things have been getting rather… passionate and heating up.

Lots of making out and lots of moments where I want to, where I think to myself just how much I love her, and just how much I want her.

And it's not like she doesn't feel the same way.

I just want it to be absolutely perfect, it's my first time after all.

And I'm flipping from page to page, and I have no idea what I just read, because all I can think about is her body on mine, and her skin against mine, and…

Fuck, now I'm really sounding like a perve.

But can you blame me?

She melts me into a pile of goo, and I don't mean just in her looks, I mean in the things she does too.

When she opens the door for me, or when she holds me close, and how when we're watching a movie, she's always watching me, and how she says I love you, and how sweet and genuine and lovely it always sounds.

Naomi's coming over today.

It's a late Saturday afternoon, and the wind outside is whipping, and all I can do is wait for her to come, because I'm already so excited to see her, despite the fact that I saw her yesterday, and I spent the night talking on the phone to her.

Yes, we are _those_ people.

And I couldn't be happier.

I'm distracted from my thoughts by a knock at the door, and I watch the door open, and the objects of my affections walks in, flowers in hand, kicking off her shoes, wearing her necklace.

She always wears her necklace.

"Hey," she walks over to me, and I love that I can see the patch I got her sewn onto her jacket sleeve.

"Hey. What are the flowers for?"

"Because I love you."

And she says it so simply, and so easily, and it makes me smile, because I didn't have to earn those flowers and I didn't have to earn her love, and I don't have to ask for it.

And I realize just how much I want her now.

The sincerity in her blue eyes, god how I love those eyes, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and the way she's biting her lip as she passes me the flower and pressed a kiss to my check.

I've never felt so connected to someone, and I've never really wanted to have sex before.

I've always wanted it to be meaningful, and I'm realizing that I want it to be with Naomi.

"Are you okay Ems?" I look up at her as she moves to jump down next to me, the bed shaking a little as a result.

"I want to," I breathe out, looking at her like nothing else matters.

I don't think I've ever seen someone so beautiful.

She laughs.

"Want to what? Build spaceships competitively, enter into a high stakes game of black jack, start a banjo making company, build a fort made of bubble wrap?"

She's so fucking adorable.

Oblivious, but adorable.

"I want to, you know…" I raise my eyebrows.

I can literally see the light bulb go off in her head.

"Oh, oh…. Oh! Um… uh, you… really? Now? Are you… now?" She's stuttering and trying to work out a sentence, shock completely evident on her features.

"Really? Are you sure?" She's finally managed to work out words.

Congrats babe.

"I love you."

"I love you too." She cups my face with her right hand and begins to stroke my face softly with her thumb, and I close my eyes at the pleasant sensation.

"So…" I look at her, waiting for her to get the hint, and I start to kiss her neck.

"Where is your dad?" She asks, trying to look at the closed door, like my dad will burst in and beat the piss out of her.

"Dad is at the gym, he won't be home until later," I say between kissing her neck.

"Your… uh… the uh… your mum?" She asks, getting very distracted. I mean, I'd fucking hope she'd be distracted.

"Out with friends, won't be home for a long time."

The rain is hitting down on the roof, and everything seems so lovely.

"Katie?" She's breathes out a bit breathlessly.

"Shagging Cook somewhere."

"J-J-James?"

"At his pervy friend's. Are you all good now?" I ask hoping she's finally understood that the house is, in fact empty.

"Yeah." And with that, I pull her down on top of me, her lips finding my neck, and I'm holding her neck, lost in what's happening.

I bring my hand to her heart, feeling the rapid beats, pounding and moving and frantic, and I love how I'm the one who did this to her.

"Your heart is beating really fast, Naomi."

"It's because you're with me," she says and with that we go back to kissing.

She wiggles out of her jacket, discarding it somewhere on my floor, and we're kissing again, getting lost in the sensation, and her hands are on my hips, and mine are on the small of her back, and she's slowly grinding into me.

My hands find the hem of her shirt.

"Take it off," I whisper against her lips, and she sits up, pulling off her shirt.

Her boobs are pushing against her bra, and I'm just staring at them, the creamy skin that's usually covered and I'm awestruck.

She's so gorgeous.

I sit up, and pull off my own, and I'm a bit shy, but I watch the way her eyes widen, and I feel incredibly confident as a result.

"Woah," she breathes out, and I'm smiling, pulling her neck so she comes back to me, and we're kissing again, moaning and hands roaming and I'm so turned on, and I can't believe this is happening, and she's kissing along my jaw, and my neck, and I can feel myself getting wetter and wetter, and I'm being left breathless.

My hands move back to her waist, finding her belt, and undoing it, and we're still kissing, her lips are making me feel all kinds of things.

She gets up off the bed and pulls off her jeans, throwing them to the side, her belt clattering against the floor.

She's jumping from foot to foot, pulling off her socks and trying not to fall on her ass, and she's just so cute, that I can't help but stare, even if it is incredibly dorky.

She's my dork

She practically jumps back onto me, and I'm giggling at her eagerness as her hands find my skirt, and gradually slide it off, sitting up a bit to remove it, throwing it to the side.

Naomi's looking down at me, just staring, and I'm worried that she doesn't like the way my stomach looks, or the shape of my legs, or she doesn't think my breasts are large enough, or that I have some other imperfection.

I try to cover a bit of my body.

"What?" I ask, shyly.

"You're so beautiful Emily Fitch," she says so sincerely and I want to cry a bit, because whenever she says it, I truly believe it, and I feel it, and I feel loved, and I love her and…

She needs to me kissing me now.

And so I draw her back in, and her lips capture mine, and I tug a bit at her bottom lip, and everything feels so right and amazing, and I flip us over, straddling her, as she moves back to sit against the headboard.

And I need more.

"Off," I breathe out between kisses, hoping she can't feel my wetness against her leg, betting that she probably can.

And her hands move to her back, undoing the bra and casting it aside, slowing moving her to my back, and I'm distracted my her breasts against me, and how good they feel, and I move my hands to them, hearing her moan.

And now here comes the funny part, well funny in my opinion.

Panic sets in as she begins fumbling with the clasp, muttering something about a fucking demon bra from hell, kissing my neck, and grazing softly, but still pulling desperately, and despite being turned on, I'm giggling at her attempts, because it really is adorable.

"For fuck's sake, did you super glue your clasp or something," she asks, sitting back a bit, looking defeated.

And I realize how this must look, me laughing at her struggling and I know I should do something, but the sight of her perfect tits distracts me.

I snap out of it a second later, staring into her beautiful blues and cupping her face, moving my hands behind me as she responds, and undoing the clasp, throwing it to the side, and the kiss gets more passionate, and so I'm very confused when she pulls away.

"What?" I breathe out, and I follow her eyesight and realize that she's completely and utterly distracted by the sights of my boobs.

Batman could burst through the wall and she wouldn't even cast a glance away, and a sumo wrestler could charge at her, and all she would do is continue to stare.

I realize she needs a push, and I gently, but firmly grab her hands, guiding them to my breasts, and holding them against them, squeezing over her larger hands, until she gets it and begins to do it on her own, and moves forward to kiss me.

Moans and breathless sighs resonate throughout my room, and soon enough underwear is discarded, her boxers and my knickers, and we get under the covers, lying next to each other.

We're just looking at each other, taking each other in.

"Are you sure?" She asks, looking at me with clear blue eyes.

I nod, and she moves on top of me in between my legs, and my hands are on her back and her shoulders, feeling the way her muscles ripple and move under my touch, and loving how I can have that effect on her.

And I can almost hear a gasp as her hand moves down to my center, feeling how wet I am for her.

Her head moves to the crook of my neck, nipping and kissing and licking as she slowly enters me.

She slowly puts one finger in, and we take a second, so I can get used to it, and then I'm clutching at her back, and I'm telling her to go faster, and soon enough, she puts in another finger, and we wait for a second.

It hurts a bit at first, but it feels so wonderful and Naomi's being so sweet and gentle and slow, and now I want more, and so I'm asking her to speed up and she starts to gently thrust a little faster, my nails clawing into her, trying to get some form of release, my moans just growing louder.

And everything feels so good.

The way she's kissing my neck, and her fingers moving in and out of me, and the way she keeps on occasionally lifting herself up to make sure I'm okay, and everything is just too wonderful.

And I know I'm close, and I'm scratching at her back, and I'm moaning so very loudly, that I'd almost be embarrassed, but who wouldn't be moaning?

"Oh god Naomi! Holy shit Naomi! I'm so close!" I'm crying out and suddenly a wave of pleasure overcomes me and my orgasm rips through me, and she's placing gentle kisses all over my face as my chest heaves up and down and I catch my breath, and she rolls off of me.

And we're kissing and now I'm straddling her, and everything is just so fucking wonderful.

She's moaning and I'm moaning, and my hand falls down between her legs, her muttering approval.

She's wet and I find myself overly pleased at the thought that I caused that.

It wasn't long before her orgasm ripped through her, and we were lying next to each other, sweating and panting, and smiling and everything was just so fucking wonderful.

Sex is often looked at as this kinda cheap thing.

Look at Katie or Cook before they started dating.

Shagging randoms, not even knowing their names and not even really caring about the person.

And so here I am, my head on Naomi's chest, wrapped up in each other, legs and arms intertwined, blankets and sheets only convering some of us, and all I can think is how uncheap, (uncheap?) this moment was.

It really was beautiful.

It wasn't about the sex, and everything was so sweet and careful and loving, that I can now never really see how anyone could view sex as a strictly cheap thing.

Now, I could go in further detail.

I could tell you about how we explored each other further, going down on each other and tracing all these new parts on each other's bodies, but I think I will leave it at this.

And so we both drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

I woke up an hour later, blankets still kinda tossed around, and the light was trickling in through the window, the rain having stopped, and I could feel something on my back.

I craned my neck and saw Naomi a bit farther down on the bed than me, her arm wrapped protectively around me from behind and her feet hanging off a bit.

Her nose was against my back, and she looked so peaceful, chest rising and falling, lips parted ever so slightly.

And I was so incredibly content in this moment.

And that's what I mean when I say that being with Naomi makes me happy when I should be miserable.

When you find people who can make you feel so incredibly happy, you treasure them, and you make sure they stay for a long time.

Looking at the sleeping girl next to me, I smiled again and yawned, falling back asleep, her nose against my back and her arm draped around me.

I start chemo today, and I'm so incredibly nervous.

I was practically shaking during my classes, worried and anxious about everything that was to come.

It was ominous and was scary and I didn't want to go.

I had tried to get out of it for so long, and I know that I have to do it, but you have to understand how awful it is.

And so I just got out of my last class of the day, and I'm currently sitting in my room, waiting for the clock to hit four, hoping it won't and time will stop and I won't have to go.

But I'm breathing kinda hard and it feels like my lungs are tighter than before, and everything seems so upsetting now.

Everything was going so well, and everything is so amazing.

I have the best girlfriend in the world, my grades are great, Katie had gotten together with Cook, and I was starting to get my life together, starting to apply to colleges, and everything was great and wonderful, and now a fucking bomb was just dropped and then it was stepped on and someone hit it with a bat and threw it out a window, "it" being my life.

Because this one thing has the potential to ruin everything, to ruin my whole life.

And I'm continuing my panic when the door opens, and Naomi is standing with flowers, and I wish she wasn't bringing me flowers right now because those flowers are her way of trying to make me smile, and I wish we were never in a position where she was trying to make me smile in a horrible situation.

But her presence calms me as she sits next to me, wordlessly putting her arm over my shoulders and holding me for a bit, kissing the top of my head and I feel a bit better, but I'm still consumed with worry about what's going to happen next.

And now she's sitting in the back of the car with me as my mum drives us, looking back at me every few seconds like I'm precious cargo, and she's scared I'll shatter into a million pieces between the last time she checked back and the next.

The building is ominous, but I guess hospitals are typically ominous.

Before I now what's happening texts are taken and my arm is pricked with needles and I'm hooked up to a IV, and I'm sitting in a chair, and my mum had kissed my cheek, telling me she'll pick us up in a few hours, and it would have been fine, but mascara was streaked down her face and she looked so sad, and I wanted to cry.

Just one week.

I just have to get through one week and then I get three weeks of rest.

And that's what I keep on telling myself and making sure I know.

It could be so much worse though.

Naomi is sitting next to me, holding my hand, stroking her thumb over my knuckles while she does some algebra with her other hand.

And every now and then, just like my mum, she looks back at me, making sure I'm okay, making sure I'm comfortable, that I'm not feeling awful and that I am not in any type of pain.

And it's kinda nice.

We talk and laugh and tell stories like we always do, and nothing would be any different, but I'm sitting in a hospital, hooked up to an IV, getting treatment because I'm _sick._

And I'm so scared because I'm _sick._

It isn't the flu or some kinda fever. My biggest concern isn't making up a test for one of my classes because I was absent. Chicken noodle soup is not the cure.

No, serious treatment is.

And even then…

Well anyways.

I know that Katie's with Cook, and that he's probably helping her in some way or another.

"You okay?"

I look over to Naomi, who's looking at me with such, soft, caring eyes.

"Yeah," I say kinda quietly, but I'm not lying, because she's here, and things are so much better when she is here.

"What are you looking at?" I ask, seeing that her earbuds are plugged in, and that her algebra homework, now completed, has been cast aside.

"Oh, just a movie. It's called Sharktopus vs. Pteracuda," she replies grinning as she gets up and I scoot over so she can sit next to me on the big chair that I'm currently on. 

She unplugs the earbuds and shows me the phone, just as what I'm guessing is sharktopus kills Conan O'Brien.

Poor Conan.

"Are they playing volleyball with his head?" I ask, staring open mouthed at these horrible graphics.

"Yep," she laughs, and I find myself laughing along with her at the sheer ridiculousness of this whole entire movie.

And I forget.

I forget for a bit that I'm hooked up to an IV and that I'm in a hospital, and that I'm _sick._

Because when I'm with her, I don't even think about those things.

It's almost February, and the snow has started to make its final appearances for the season, and the rain is more constant.

And Naomi is starting to apply to colleges, still nervous about what she will end up doing, but I know that no matter what she ends up doing, she will be amazing at it.

A few hours later, the movie is finished and we have both drifted off, my head on her shoulder, and we're awoken by a little movement, and my mum is standing in front of us, no more mascara streaks and a large smile at seeing her daughter and her girlfriend.

My mum drops Naomi off at her house, and while we're driving back, she continues to look back at me, asking me various questions and obviously fretting over everything.

Dinner is kinda quiet, and the silence is filled with so many unsaid things.

The week is pretty much exactly like that.

I spend my mornings with Naomi and I never fail to smile and she walks me to class, and she eats lunch with Cook, and then after school she comes over to my house at 4:00, after leaving Cook's house.

And from there she comforts me.

She comforts me while I'm sitting on the bed panicking, or when we're driving and I tense a bit as the hospital comes into sight, or when I'm being hooked up.

She's holding my hand through out it all.

Today is Sunday, my last day for the cycle (the cycle is one week of chemo and three weeks of rest), and the clock is ticking away, and she's currently finishing some last minute homework up as I do the same.

We are sharing her earbuds, one in her ear and one in mine, and we're listening to all these songs.

And everything is kinda calm, and I'm excited for this week to be over.

Because this week has only been a constant reminder that I am _ill,_ that I am not okay.

But I feel fine.

"Nice bag." I point at her messenger bag, despite having seen it multiple times, while she puts her finished homework in it.

"What? You have a problem with messenger bags?"

"No, of course not. I think the mailman looks quite cool with his," I continue to tease.

"Tom Hansen has a messenger bag," she replies, trying to prove a point that her bag is very cool, which it is not.

"From 500 Days of Summer? Doesn't his relationship end and he becomes incredibly sad?"

I want Naomi to be nothing like Tom Hansen. Not because there is anything wrong with him or Summer, but their relationship ends, and I never want ours to.

"Maybe, but… it's a cool bag, alright?"

"Whatever you say."

She's moved to sit on my chair with me, and once again I place my head on her shoulder, because it just feels right when I do.

Good feeling, won't you stay with me just a little longer?

It always seems like you're leaving when I need you here just a little longer

(Violent Femmes- Good Feeling)

I smile when I hear the beginning of _our_ song play, and I move into her more.

 _Our_ song.

I can feel her eyes on my head, so I look up at her.

"What?" I ask.

"You're… it's just that… You're the kinda person that people write all those overly cheesy love songs about. Like, you're just… it's… this is what love is," she says so genuinely and so truthfully that all I want to do is kiss her, so I do.

I try to convey everything into the kiss.

I try to convey how grateful I am to have her by my side. I try to convey how shocked I am that a person like her exists. I try to convey how happy it makes me when she says stuff like that. I try to convey how much I love her.

And I'm smiling into the kiss because it is so hard to not smile with her.

And I know that things are supposed to be kinda shit.

I know that I am _ill,_ that something is wrong with me.

I know that I should be sad.

But how could I be sad when she's here, and when she's looking at me like she is, and when everything just feels so incredible?

I love her.

 **Well then.**

 **I hope you guys liked that. Next chapter will be posted on Thursday. I really hope you guys liked it, because I feel really nervous about it, and kinda scared it's not very good, but then again, I feel like the story's not very good.**

 **Sorry.**

 **Anyways.**

 **I'm tired.**

 **Let me know what you think. Did you like it? Do you like the story? Anything in particular you would want to see, (I have a few ideas in mind)? Do you wish I would shut the fuck up? Let's hope you don't wish for the last one.**


	12. Chapter 12

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hey. What's up, apart from the sky?**

 **So, woah. A lot of support on my last chapter, which I really did need, because I am not very confident in myself, so you can probably imagine how much reading such kind words have made me incredibly happy and are making me feel a bit more confident. So thank you so much to everyone.**

 **I am still working on chapter 13, but I will finish that by tomorrow.**

 **Also, sorry I barely uploaded it on the day I said I would. I just got back from a friend's party, so when I got home, I rushed to my computer like a fucking lunatic. Also, this is not me desperately trying to convince you I have a social life, because I do not.**

 **Anyways. Let's start this motherfucker!**

 **Chapter 12:**

I have been through some things that I would have rather not have been through.

I have watched my parents become distant, and I have watched my father's car drive off, and I have watched my great aunt slowly die, and I have watched my mum go into a spiral, and I have seen so many things that I wish I had not seen.

This is not me trying to say that I have had it much worse than anyone else, because I know that life can be so much worse.

But it could have also been easier at times, I will say.

But of all the things I have seen, watching everything become even more real is the worst.

Because cancer was this idea, it was this small little side part, the background character in a movie you saw once when there was nothing else good playing.

It was just a suggestion, really.

And I was so… fucking… _stupid._

I was an idiot.

Because it wasn't any of the things I thought it was.

It was a large character, one of the ones you utterly loathe.

Because watching her sitting on her bed, silently panicking, scratching her head, taking these shaky breaths is the kick in the stomach that tells you that it was a problem, not an idea.

And I suddenly remembered October, when I wasn't close to her, and I told myself that I wouldn't scream out, "Why god?! Why her?! Oh why?! Why did it have to be her?!" or something of that sort, and I was a complete fucking fool.

Because all I wanted to do was shout out, "Why?!"

This next part is gonna sound really awful, so I'm just gonna apologize in advance:

Of everyone in the school it could have been, of all the people who I know that do not mean anything to me, why did it have to be one of the people that mean the most?

Why did it have to be anyone?

And why the hell did it hurt so much more than I thought it would to watch her sitting in a chair that made her look so _small?_

Why did it hurt so much more that I thought it would when she was hooked up to the IV?

 _Because I love her._

What if she wouldn't be okay?

No, she had to be, she couldn't not be.

She just had to be.

I mean, I can't even begin to think about-

"Miss Campbell, what would the answer be?"

I look up and I see Mr. Dirken looking at me, a kinda cocky grin on his face because he knows that I have absolutely no fucking idea what he's talking about.

Not a fucking clue.

"Oxford commas?"

That was the answer to everything right?

Well, that and 42.

Apparently not because he took an over exaggerated sigh, like it physically pained him to deal with my apparent stupidity.

"No, Miss Campbell, oxford commas are not the answer. Next time, I suggest not daydreaming in class. You will need to know this. This is important. This is the key to success."

I honestly didn't think it really had anything to do with success, but I wasn't gonna argue with the tosser.

I bet he gets off on things like this.

Grammar-fetish fucker.

I continue to tune him out, because I really don't give a shit about him.

So instead I think of someone who matters, who matter quite a bit, actually:

Emily.

I think about her smile.

Her laughter.

Her boobs…

Sorry… that was a given.

Have I mentioned that I have had sex with her? Like… me… Naomi Campbell, has had sex with Emily Fitch.

And yes, everything, and I mean _everything,_ is just as gorgeous as I thought it would be.

Not, that I thought about feeling her breasts, or anything like that.

Or what she looks like naked.

What? Me?

How dare you accuse me of that! I'm actually quite offended.

Yeah… I don't buy what I'm saying either.

I think about her red hair, I wonder if she'll lose it.

I wouldn't care, I really wouldn't.

I think she'd be gorgeous no matter how she looks, hair or no hair.

The bell rings and I'm out the door, passing through packed halls, and all I can really think of is why no one else seems to be thinking about Emily.

It was only when they first found out that they even pretended to be sad, but now they couldn't even be assed to do that.

Why do kids like Ricky Feehy get to be laughing and smiling in the halls and not have to worry about chemo? He should be concerned for her, he should care deeply about Emily, and things… well… things should be different.

They really should be.

Water should taste like mud, and songs shouldn't sound the same.

Everything should be different, because Emily Fitch is everything.

She is so fucking amazing, how would the world possibly be the same without her in it?

Mrs. Incart is sitting in her chair, and she looks sad, but I've sadly become used to that.

No one should be used to seeing a person look sad.

But she was sad, and I was used to it, and she was drinking generously from a "water" bottle, (the quotation marks indicate that I do not believe for a second that water had such a strong aroma).

She continued to drink, setting it down eventually, and taking a deep breath, and I wonder if she does the same thing each day, if she looks in the mirror and sighs, and tells herself that it will only take one more day until she is happy again, and then her husband will love her and Tiffany will fuck off, and she won't need to drink again.

I wonder if every single night she looks in the mirror and takes off all her makeup and promises herself that the next day will be different, that her students will learn something, and other teachers won't whisper about her, and that she will not have to wear so much makeup to plaster on a convincing smile, and that she won't need to look at her probably over flowing jewelry box, full of broken promises from a man she once loved, and who loved her once as well.

I wonder if one day she will stop looking at the mirror, and instead just take off her makeup and leave it off, and she will stop slurring her words because she won't be drinking, but I guess she would have done that already if she could have.

And now I'm not looking at Mrs. Incart, but instead I'm sitting next to Cook in the library, and he's telling me about his latest date with Katie, and how it was nice and how they shagged, but when he tells me about it, it feels a lot different from him telling me about his other conquests.

He doesn't have a shit-eating grin, but instead he has a kinda soft smile, one that's actually rather sweet.

"So what about you? You never did say if anything had ever happened between you and Red." He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for my response.

The part where I panic:

You see, if I could, I would have lied and told him that we had not made love. Because I kinda felt like if I did, I would have been bragging about it, like I was treating her like some tart and bragging about it, and that didn't feel right.

It was a moment between Emily and I, and it should stay that way.

Also, if he asked for details, which I wouldn't give, I would be forced to cringe at the memory of me not being to unhook her fucking bra, and staring at her tits like a twat for so long, that she actually had to guide my hands to them.

And I would remember her lovely face when she came, her the way her fingers dug into my back, which was surprisingly kinda enjoyable, and the way her body was so beautiful, or how or fringe clung to her forehead with sweat, or how she had said my name softly, or how I woke up wrapped around her, holding her tighter than anything I had ever held.

But I am not good at lying, so I stumbled my way through a lie, saying something about never, or how, or why he would think that.

He didn't buy it.

"You two totally got it on, didn't you?" And here comes his shit-eating grin.

"What? No!" I scoff, but no one would ever buy it.

"… Really? Naomio, I've known you since we were wee little shits, I know when you're trying to lie, you're shit at it."

"… Cook…"

"You totally did it! You got some!" He stands up and the chair falls backwards, resulting in a loud sound of disapproval from the librarian.

It was like a bird squawking.

"Squawk! Be quiet! Squawk! Shut up! Squawk!" Is what she called out.

Or at least, that is how it sounded to me.

"You most definitely got laid," he says quieter, but his grin is just as large.

"… Okay, so… maybe, just maybe… Emily and I… took our relationship, to the next level. Maybe, maybe not."

"… You fucked her."

"Don't say it like that."

"What, fucked?"

I don't like the way he says it. Because yes, that is what happened, we did fuck, but at the same time, it feels a bit dirty the way he's saying it, like it was a quick shag up against the club walls, and that bothers me.

"It was more than that," I say very firming, crossing my arms and sinking back into my seat.

I can tell he's about to protest or say something about my behavior, but then I see a look of understanding pass over his features.

Sometimes Cook gets it.

Sometimes it just clicks and that's because we just get each other.

Most of the time he doesn't get it, but that's just because he's Cook.

I mean, he didn't understand why Zombeavers was called that until I explained it to him, and he laughed.

"That's a fucking riot!"

… I disagreed.

But back to the library.

He slapped my shoulder a few times, like you see those guys do when they talk about some girl that they had managed to convince to shag them and their diseased dicks.

And I knew he didn't mean it like that though, so I just accepted it and smiled, denying his pleas for details.

"But I shared all of mine!"

"I didn't ask you too. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've begged you on multiple occasions to not tell me."

"I've been telling you since the fourth grade!"

Fourth grade story from Cook to Naomi:

"Hey, Naomikins!

"Yeah mate?"

"Do you know Kendra Eastreat?"

"Isn't she the pretty one with the really big nails?"

"Yeah, that's the one." He was already grinning.

"What about her?"

"We got it on behind the bike shed."

"You had sex?!"

"Okay, well… we didn't _get it on_ get it on, but I did kiss her, like a proper snog."

"With tongue?" I made a face.

"Well… no, but… she was like proper gagging for it."

"… Isn't she the one who cried when she couldn't get down from the monkey bars?"

"…"

"You snogged monkey bar girl?!" I was full blown laughing now.

"How many girls have you snogged?"

"Zero, but at least I didn't kiss the girl who pissed herself while a teacher had to get her a ladder and call out to her with a megaphone."

"It was a high drop!"

"It was like six feet, tops."

"… Well… pissed tights girl is a good snogger."

"Did she cry afterwards? Did you have to calm her down by shouting through a megaphone?"

"Oh piss off."

"I think she beat me to it."

"Fuck off."

"'We will get you down! We will save you! Do not panic! We have a ladder, and we are coming to your rescue!'" I imitated, nearly pissing my pants with laughter.

Don't worry I didn't, pissing my own pants was more of her thing.

But let's continue with our little trip down memory lane.

Story from sixth grade Cook to sixth grade Naomi:

"Mate."

"Yeah Cook?"

"Fiona Defren."

"What about her?"

"Felt her up, didn't I?"

"What?" I was not entirely sure what I was hearing.

"You heard me. Copped a feel and everything."

"What do you mean by everything?"

"… Well, fuck that. All I know is that I felt her tits."

"Please stop telling me this."

"They felt quite nice."

"My ears are hurting."

"Pretty fucking mint. Tip top really."

"This is physically hurting me."

"Enjoyed that shit a whole fucking lot. It was well ace."

"I'm gonna go throw myself out a window or something so you'll stop."

And it continued.

Cook told me stories. I begged him not to. He told me anyways.

The worst part was when Cook's sexual conquests found out about each other.

Listen, I didn't say anything to them, and Cook and I were and are only friends with each other, so it's not like he said anything to them.

Apparently, some of his conquests liked to believe that Cook was much more than what he was. And so they would talk about it, and eventually, stories were compared, and they got pissed.

Let's just saw it involved a lot of crying from Wilma Wernersburgerson, a lot of swear words from DeeDee Trixen, and the occasional chucked apple at _us,_ despite the fact that _I_ had done nothing wrong, by Kristie Feebengal.

Have you ever had apples chucked at you?

The answer is most likely no, so I am going to fill you in:

It is not fun.

But that was the past and now I no longer had to worry about Kristie's deadly Granny Smiths.

And so Cook was begging me for details, and I kept telling him no, and eventually he gave up, and we went back to watching something on my phone.

"So…"

I turned to look at him.

"Yeah?"

"Emily…"

I rolled my eyes.

"I'm not telling you about the bloody shag."

"It's not that."

There was a more serious look in his eyes.

"Yeah… What about Emily?"

"How was chemotherapy?" He asked it quietly, but it wasn't because we were in the library.

It was just the kind of thing you asked quietly, even if you were like Cook, who had almost never been a quiet person.

"You know…"

But he didn't. He didn't know.

He didn't and he wouldn't and there was nothing he could say that could make it even better, because it hurts so fucking much and, oh god, oh god.

I can feel myself choking up and it hurts because all I want to do is live happily after ever with her to be honest.

And that's so fucking strange to me, because I have never seen myself riding off into the sunset with anyone, and now here I am, wishing for all those things, and now I'm so terrified, I'm so fucking terrified that I might not get them.

I have never wanted anything more than to not have to watch her stare at the IV like it's the enemy, even though it's not.

I have never wanted anything more than to not have to watch her smile falter the way it did every time we had to go to chemo.

I have never wanted anything more than I want her to be okay.

That's all I want.

And now I feel like crying in a library, because Emily Fitch is sick, and I love her so fucking much.

And…

I can't even think about a world without her in it.

Because she makes me smile, and she makes me laugh and she sends my heart into overdrive, and she makes me feel loved, and I love her fully, with all of my heart, even the little hidden crevices that all small and hardly visible.

Even those parts.

I loved her.

And the fact that it was this one person, this person, is awful.

Because, of course it had to be, the girl who I loved.

But I was now starting to hurt, like actually physically hurt, as I tried to take deep breathes and all I was getting were shallow ones, and I felt very tight, like my skin clung to me tighter, and like my lungs had been folded into origami.

And so I stopped thinking about it, because it was actually hurting me too.

Nope.

No more thinking about that.

And so I was here, sitting on Emily's bed, my jacket on her chair, on top of Carny.

It was Wednesday, and it was raining, February finally beginning, and the sky was so incredibly gloomy, as I glanced out the window.

Everything was so still.

"You know, I've always wanted to do that," Emily said, breaking the still, standing next to me, looking out the window, her face visible in the reflection of the window, and I could see her smiling.

I know I have said it so many times before, but really, sometimes I feel like I have to say it again, because in no way will I ever be able to truly make you understand this:

Her smile really was beautiful.

And I know you must be rolling your eyes, telling me that you know, that you've heard me say that countless times before, but I don't think you will ever truly know just how beautiful it was.

When I was really, really little, probably about five, my dad took my mum and I camping.

And I remember a gentle shaking, waking me up and I looked up and saw the smiling face of my dad, toothy grin, a wild look in his eyes.

"Come on sprout, you need to see this."

I rubbed my eyes the way you see all young children, yawning and rubbing my eyes with my fists.

My mum was still asleep, out cold in the sleeping bag next to me, as I got up and followed my dad out of the tent, and along this trail.

And I remember complaining until he put me on his shoulders, carrying me around and up a hill, and everything was so quiet, except for the sound of his shoes on the ground, stomping on gravel and leaves.

And here we were, on the top of this large hill, the sky so very dark out, and I was about to ask what we were doing until the sky was lite up brilliantly, the sun rising and the colors dripping into each other and the light hitting my hair, and everything so rather beautiful, still and calm, and I didn't tear my eyes away, and I was scared of blinking because I thought if I did, I would miss the sheer magic of it, and all I wanted to do was sit there forever and watch the colors mix and fall and rise and blend and look so fucking beautiful.

I had never seen anything so beautiful until I saw Emily Fitch.

And if you were to ask me if I had rather seen a thousand of those sunrises, lighting up the sky, or one of her smiles, lighting up her face, I wouldn't even hesitate to say her smile.

And so here we were, and she had told me something rather vague, obviously prompting me to figure out the specifics.

"What?"

"I've always just wanted to kiss in the rain."

Do you know those large filing cabinets in offices? 

Those huge things filled with paper after paper, seeming rather endless.

Well, I had one of those for her, many actually, and somewhere in my brain, something went off, and I suddenly remembered something.

"Didn't you say that was cheesy? When you were telling me about Night of Love. Didn't you say it wasn't very meaningful?"

She smiled and I knew she was surprised I had remembered such a small detail.

"I never had someone I wanted to kiss in the rain."

And it's said rather shyly, kinda quietly, and it makes my heart soar.

Like, I'm pretty sure it would fucking fly out of my chest and fly around if that was possible and also if that wouldn't kill me.

So what can a person say to that?

I grabbed her hand and pulled her out of her room, down the 17 stairs and down the house with a fading red door.

And here I was, laughing and standing in the rain, coating me and soaking me and chilling me, and my hair was becoming a mess, but I didn't care because here was Emily laughing too, and she looked so fucking happy, so I could do with the rain and the chill and the fucking cheesiness of it.

I pulled her into me, the rain hitting our backs and… I could hear a song.

It was playing in my head, pounding along with my heart.

You speak in tongues I can't resist

You run me 'round I cannot think

We're driving to your parents' house just for a visit and I'm sleeping in your brother's bed

Won't you sneak into my room and climb under the covers talk nonsense in your sleep

(Wild Nothing- Summer Holiday)

And so I cup her face in my hands and tip my head down, leaning in and capturing her lips ad the rain is surrounding us and poring down on us and our clothes are clinging to us, as is our hair, and maybe I should feel so cold with no jacket and with the cold rain and cold weather, but I feel warm.

And lips are crashing and I feel like I'm falling and I get that feeling in my stomach.

You know the feeling when your at an amusement park, and there's pure excitement, and your friend convinces you to go on one of those huge rides that drops you, and you shut your eyes so tightly, and then you fall, your stomach is in your throat, and your heart is beating so incredibly fast, and you're just falling, but you can't help but smile because it all feels so amazing.

That is how it felt when I kissed her with the rain falling all over us, and as her hands found my neck and the back of my soaked t-shirt, balling it up in tiny fists, clinging desperately.

And all I wanted to do was stand there in the rain and kiss her, which sounds cheesy, I know, but I wouldn't have changed it even if you had gotten on your knees and begged me to.

People have walked on the moon and scored the winning goal in a huge soccer game, and some have had the winning lottery numbers, and some have written books that were on bestseller lists, but none of them will ever get to kiss Emily Fitch in the rain on a cold Wednesday afternoon.

And once again, I know you will look at this and write it off as love sick teens that marvel at the simplicity of holding someone's hand, but I do not care, because I am currently holding her here in my arms, and she is so fucking amazing, that I cannot _not_ say these things, because then they will just be unsaid things that haunt me with their nonexistence.

So I am telling you now, that I do not know if anything will ever be better than being with Emily Fitch, because I do not think better things than that can possibly exist.

We pull away, and her hair is clinging to her, and she's smiling and I love every moment of it, and all I can think about is all the other things that I want to do with her.

And she still looks so beautiful, makeup running down her face, clothes soaked and smelling of rainwater.

It's a week later when I'm sitting on her bed, and she's in the bathroom, that "it" happens, "it" being a bad event.

You see, when it comes down to it, looks are just looks, and they don't matter. They really don't.

I would still love Emily no matter how she looked.

But still, it's a hard thing, because we are taught to judge people on their looks, so when things start going south in that department, it feels as if things are falling apart, or falling _out._

And that is what happened to Emily's hair.

It wasn't a lot, but it seemed like mountains of it to her.

I was just sitting on her bed, thumbing through a magazine, and then I hear this kinda choked noise, and out comes Emily, sniffling and crying and I'm not sure why, if I did something wrong, or if someone did something, or if she saw something on TV, but then I look at her hand.

In her hand she is clutching a few strands a red hair, and I realize something:

Those are supposed to be attached to her head.

And they are not attached to her head, so something is wrong.

And it takes me a while until it clicks and I remember that she is _sick._

She's walking over to me, hair in her hand, clutched so very tightly and she buries her head in my arms, like I hold all the answers and solutions, and I hate myself because I don't have any.

She's crying into me, and I feel awful, because it hurts to see her upset.

And when she calms down a bit, I pull away, trying to get a good look at her.

"I'm gonna be fucking bald…"

"Emily," I try to interrupt.

"I'm gonna lose all of my hair," she cried out.

"Emily."

"This is such… shit!" And now she was crying again.

"Emily."

She looks up at me.

"Emily, I don't care about your hair. Everything about you is gorgeous, I promise. I love you, hair or no hair. Alright? I love you."

"Really?" She asks like a small child, voice timid.

"Yeah. I love you. Why else would I kiss you in the rain or watch the Princess Bride about fifty million times?"

And at this she laughs softly.

"It's only been about 30 million. Cut me some slack." 

And she's still taking these shaky breaths, and I know that things are still not completely okay, and I know that only more shit is to come, and that things are gonna get worse, but right not that doesn't matter.

What matters it this:

She is Emily.

I am Naomi.

And we love we love each other a whole fucking lot.

 **Love, love, love.**

 **Okay then.**

 **I'm sorry that I always mention music. I really do love music, and spend a lot of time listening to it, but I really don't want it to feel like I'm forcing you to listen to it, or trying to aggressively push my style of music on you.**

 **Sorry about that.**

 **So I have a question. As many of you know, people who go through chemo have a tendency to lose their hair. So, I was wondering if you want Emily to lose all her hair, or to only lose a bit. I can easily write it either way.**

 **Up to you guys.**

 **Thanks again for everything.**

 **Let me know what you think. Too cheesy? Not enough cheese?**

 **Want some wine with that cheese? Sorry, I tried to make a joke and it was shit.**

 **Anyways, next chapter will be posted on Monday night.**


	13. Chapter 13

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hey, you again? Good to see you!**

 **So here comes the part about the inevitable excuses: So, I just started working on Chapter 14, and I am rushing to work on that. I am sorry that I am not farther ahead, things have been a bit chaotic with school and then my social life decided to exist.**

 **So I am very sorry about that, but I promise that Chapter 14 will be done soon. You guys can expect that in a couple of days.**

 **Thank you once again for everything. I hope you enjoy this chapter, especially since I'm not sure how I feel about it yet.**

 **But, anyways. Let's get ready to rumble!**

 **Chapter 13:**

So, what is the worst thing that could possibly happen when you are trying to… you know… with your girlfriend?

Besides her dad walking in and breaking your kneecaps with his bare hands.

Any guesses?

Well, it would probably be if she throws up.

I mean, I know I'm not that great looking, but I never thought I was that repulsive.

Sorry, that was a bad joke.

Now I feel like a dick.

Oh fuck.

Okay, let me explain.

It was a Friday after school, a few days after the first of her hair had fallen out, and we were sitting on her bed.

Emily's hair had not fallen out since that day, but I could tell she was nervous about it, despite my reassurances that I would love her even if she looked like a beaver, or if she wore a puka shell necklace.

But we were sitting on her bed, and we had been kissing, and my hand started to wander, because really, I shouldn't be held accountable for that thing, it really does have a mind of its own.

So my hand, not me of course, had wandered up and under her t-shirt, and it had started to graze her breast when my hand was pulled away, her lips vanished from mine, and her body was no longer on the bed.

My first thought was this:

Maybe that was not the right thing.

My second thought was this:

I've fucked up.

And then I remembered the time when I was slapped because the same thing had happened.

I was in the seventh grade, and Cook had of course continued his unwanted stories.

And of course ideas were being put into my head, ideas such as:

If you do not cop a feel, you are missing out and will never truly be happy and life will be shit and Gremlins will come and eat your face off.

Also, what the fuck is up with Gremlins?

Like, you can't feed them after midnight? It's always after midnight! Are you supposed to starve the fuckers? Because that would only make them more angry.

But anyways, ideas like that were being put into my head.

And I had still been dating Annie Wilders.

I think you may already be able to see where this is going, but let's continue anyways.

I was in a movie theater, because movie theaters were perfect for our dates. You didn't talk to one another, so no awkward small talk, and you could kiss sometimes if you sat in the back.

And we were sitting in the back of a movie theater, and making out, and my hand, the fucker that it is, had an idea:

How about I feel up Annie Wilders?

My hand did not ask her or me what we thought about this.

And so my hand moved up and up slowly, and finally it was resting just a bit below her breast.

And I thought things were going great.

So of course, of fucking course, I moved my hand up just a tiny bit, still not on her tit.

And what happened?

Well, she pulled away and slapped me hard across the face.

Very hard.

"What kind of girl do you think I am? Huh?" And with that she had taken my soda, poured it over my head, and walked out of the movie theater.

And yet we still continued to "date" for a bit longer.

But back to me now sitting on Emily's bed, looking at my hand like it was a devil, because really, I get in so much fucking trouble because of it and my horny mind.

But then I hear the unmistakable sound of someone puking, that awful pained sound breaking me out of thoughts.

"Emily?" I walk into the bathroom that she sprinted in to.

"Are you okay?" I ask, which was probably a very stupid thing to ask considering the fact that she is puking her guts up in to the toilet.

I wasn't entirely sure what to do in this situation.

I don't think I was supposed to offer words of encouragement.

You can do it! Puke! Puke! Puke! Good job! There goes your lunch!

That seemed rather fucked up.

After a minute the noises stopped, and the door clicked open.

She looked sick.

She looked ill.

She looked like she was dying.

And I never ever wanted to see that.

Those things a sick person looked like were right in front of me. Her skin was too pale, and her eyes were rimmed red, and she looked much more fragile than just a few moments ago, and she looked like how she was.

Sick.

And once again it hits me hard, that she is not okay, because people that are okay do not come out of the bathroom looking like that, and they do not go to the hospital for chemotherapy, and they do not lose strands of their hair, and they do not worry about any of these things.

And so it hits, it hits hard.

She is not okay.

Emily Fitch is not okay.

And if she is not okay, than neither am I.

But I would rather not think about any of that, because when I do I go into a bad place, a place where puppies are outlawed and smiling is illegal, and rainbows are mocked.

A place where those most precious to you are not safe.

And so I pull myself out of that place, because I can't bear to be in it, and I go over to Emily, who is barely able to stand at the moment.

And I pick her up. I pick her up and I carry her to her bed, and she's crying, and she's apologizing for throwing up, and for the smell, and for everything, and all I can think is that she shouldn't be apologizing because it was never her fault.

It's nobody's fault, and that's the worst part, because I have no one I can be angry at, no one I can punch or yell out or scream until my lungs burn and beg me for a rest, a rest that I will not give them.

And so I am angry at the world, and it's not easy to be angry at the world, but I am, because I am carrying Emily, and that wouldn't have ever bothered me, but it bothers me because I am carrying her because she cannot stand on her own at the moment.

Her parents are at some gym event, and it's funny because I didn't even know that there were gym events, and James is at his friend's, and I wonder if that's how he distracts himself from going into a bad place.

Katie is with Cook, and I still have trouble believing they're an item, that they are dating, that we go on double dates with them, that they kiss and hold hands and call each other by nick names, and all of that coupley shit.

I want to leave. I don't want to leave her, I could never want to leave her, never ever. But I want to leave this moment, because I cannot bear to watch her being sick.

But I stay because I am not my father.

I am not him, and so I am here tucking her in, and knowing he would have run, because things got hard, but I am staying, because I love her so much, it doesn't matter that it's hard.

"Are you alright?" I ask incredibly softly, and I'm not sure if she heard.

"I'm okay, I'm so sorry, though. It happens with the chemo, I guess," she whispers, and once again I am mad at the world for making her think that she needs to be the one apologizing.

"It's okay." I continue to tuck her in, making sure she's comfortable and has water.

And with that I grab her computer, and I grab The Princess Bride, and I get onto the bed, under the convers with her, and the movie begins to play, and I already know what happens, but that's not the point.

The point is she snuggles- and yes, I know that I do not like that word, but I will use it now- into me, and she smiles softly, and she looks less sick after a bit, and things seem better.

That's the point.

And by the time the movie ends she is asleep and I am wide awake, and all I can think about is how peaceful she looks, and how things are far from peaceful really.

I think about Emily, because that's all I really think about.

She's sleeping and her head is buried in my chest, and the rain has started again, and I'm just looking at her, because that's all I really look at.

And soon I find my eyes closing, and they fall and I try to peel them open, but after a bit I give up, and snuggle- yes I know- in closer.

I wake up a couple of hours later, and to my horror, I am woken up, and Mrs. Fitch is the one that wakes me up.

On the Brightside, it wasn't Mr. Fitch, because if it was, I have a feeling he'd be putting me back to sleep.

Have I mentioned that that man terrifies me?

You should have seen Cook when he got Mr. Fitch's warning.

He had come back to my house after a date with Katie, and the poor fucker had started to follow her upstairs, thinking he was gonna get some, only to here a cough.

He did not get some.

Instead he came back to mine, face pale like he had seen a ghost.

But Mrs. Fitch was here, standing in the doorway.

We hadn't done anything, our clothes were still very much on. But I guess finding me in bed with her daughter would take her logic out of the window.

I guess if I had a kid and I found someone in bed with them, I wouldn't be too pleased.

But Mrs. Fitch wasn't screaming, and she wasn't shocked, and she wasn't rushing to grab a gun.

Sidenote, I am almost positive the Fitch's do not own a gun. So let's hope, for my sake, that I'm right.

I mean, I'm already scared of Mr. Fitch enough as it is. I think the last thing we need to do is give him a deadly weapon.

Back to Mrs. Fitch.

She seemed pleased to be honest.

She was smiling, and looking at us lovingly, and for a second, I wasn't sure if my mind was functioning properly.

"Mrs. Fitch?" I asked in a kinda sleepy, kinda stupid way.

"Oh, sorry to wake you. Just go back to bed," she said softly, and I know she was trying to be nice, but all I could think is that was an incredibly stupid thing to ask of me.

Was I supposed to just ignore the fact that the Fitch's were home, and I was in bed with Emily?

What if Mr. Fitch wants to come up here, and talk about something like… oh I don't know, his gym, or why Emily's virginity is a precious and sacred thing, and how mad he would be if he ever found out I had taken it, and then he comes up here and finds me in bed with her?

I don't think we would be having a nice conversation.

I think the conversation would involve him punching in my face.

And then I guess Scotty Renold and I would be bashed face buddies.

So I decide to gently move Emily, unsuccessfully of course, as she wakes up in the process, and she looks so cute, that all I want to do is kiss her, and so I do (don't worry, she brushed her teeth and stuff after she threw up), gently back into consciousness, and it takes me a moment to realize that I should get up, because if I don't, I think thing would go very badly.

But I don't get up, because I'm a goner.

There goes my logic and reasoning, and my full independence, because I am a goner, and I guess I have been for a long time, but even now it still surprises me.

And so I don't get up, and I continue to kiss her instead, because the idea of leaving her lips actually makes me sad, and because I can't really think of anywhere else I want to be right now.

But I stop when I hear the door open again, because although I don't find my face extraordinarily, groundbreakingly, attractive, I still like it enough to not have it be rearranged.

I leave not long after, and the rain is still coming, but I walk home anyways, and the sky seems so much darker than it ever has before, and I think that's because Emily was sick earlier, but then I remind myself that she still is sick, and she will still be sick tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that too.

And so I hug my jacket a little tighter, because it feels a little colder, but I don't think it's because of the rain.

When I get home, I don't eat dinner because I don't feel like it, I'm not hungry.

I feel sick.

Maybe it's the rain or the cold, but I think it's because Emily looked so fragile that I thought that if I held her too tight, she would break, and if I didn't hold her tight enough she would vanish.

On Saturday, I'm sitting next to Cook, and we're sitting on the couch, and you might expect me to say that we are watching some crappy movie, but no, we are watching some crappy home movies.

"Are you ready?"

"Yeah."

It comes from the screen, and I watch Cook and I roll down the hill in one of those crappy little soapbox cars you make when you're little.

The ones that are cliché and that you pretend to make with your dad while he does all the work, and you race with all the other neighborhood kids for a prize.

But there was no race, and we had no dads to make us the cars.

We were eight, and the car was shit, the hill was huge, and I already knew how this would end, but watched with the utmost interest anyways, as the car rolled down faster and faster until it flipped on its side and we stumbled out, and my mum dropped the camera and came running after us.

And then came the next one.

Paddy was probably five, and he was rushing around, shooting Cook and I with a Nerf Gun I had given him, and Cook was holding the camera as we ran playfully, and Paddy was laughing and squealing, and my eyes crinkled as I smiled because he seems so happy.

And then the next.

I was probably six, and Cook and I were eating cookies, and I heard my mum's voice.

"Did you eat these cookies?"

And we gave these large smiles, and it made me happy, and then I heard my father's voice.

"Looks like we have quite the troublemakers here, huh?" And he came onto the scream, scruffy facial hair and all, and he was smiling, and we were continuing to eat cookies, and he looked happy, and all I wanted to do was throw something at him, because he was lying to me.

He wasn't happy, and he didn't care about me, and he didn't mean it when he said he loved me, because he left, he left, and he didn't do anything.

He didn't come back and he didn't try to make contact, and I bet he didn't even waste his time thinking about me.

And so I grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, because I couldn't bear to see his smile anymore, and I didn't want to see his eyes anymore, and I didn't want to see him pretend to care anymore when in just a few months he would be packing his stuff into his car in the early morning, and I would be waking up because I would hear the sound of the door, and I would walk outside, and he would get in.

And he didn't respond when I asked where he was going, or when he was coming back, and I asked him louder, but he wouldn't say anything, so I ran after the car as it pulled away, and he drove on, and the car got farther, and it was clear he wasn't stopping, and so I looked at the teddy bear in my arms, the one he had given me, and I threw it, I threw it in the direction of the car.

Because he could have it.

I didn't want it.

He didn't want me, and I didn't want his failed attempts as a father.

And I went back in and cried.

So Cook was looking at me, and he grabbed the remote, and he put another movie in, but this one was of another man, and he looked like Cook, and I realized that Cook was showing me that he knew.

He knew how fucked up it was.

I wonder if I would have been different if I had had my dad.

But I guess I won't ever know.

And now all I want to do is cry, and I know Cook wants to do the same, but we don't, because I don't want my father to be the cause of my pain, I don't want him to have that kind of power over me.

And I won't cry until I'm at Emily's house later that day, and we are sitting in her room, and her dad comes in.

"Hey Emsy, just wanted to say dinner will be ready in about half an hour." And with that he kisses her head, and I want my father to kiss my head.

He walks out of the room, and I want my dad.

I want him to come and I want him to hold me, and I want him to tell me that I'm not too old to want his teddy bear back, and I'm not weak if I sob, and that Emily will be fine, and that he thinks she's a keeper, and that he's proud of me.

I want him to tell me he loves me, that he loves my mum, and I want him to say he's sorry, and I know that won't make things okay, but I want him to say it anyways, because I forgot how it sounds when he says I love you.

I forgot how it's like for him to say he loves me.

And now my face puckers, and I'm crying, because there is so much I want.

I want my dad to come back because sometimes it feels like I'm still seven and watching his car drive away. I want Mrs. Incart to be happy because I can't bear to see her try to be happy anymore. And mum to always be smiling, because I never want to see her frown again. I want Cook and Paddy to have the life they deserve, because it's hard to watch them try to figure out where their mum has fucked off to.

I want Emily to be okay, to not have cancer and to not have to do chemotherapy or throw up or pull pieces of her hair out.

I don't need a big house or some fancy car. I'm not asking to win the lottery or to become some famous actress in some movie you saw in a theater once when nothing else good was playing.

I don't need anything extraordinary.

And so now I'm sobbing, because I want too much, even though there are people who wish for the world and get it, and I don't want the world, I want a girl.

"Naomi?" And with that, Emily takes me in her arms, and I lean my forehead against her collarbone, and I cry because I have not cried in a while, and now I'm feeling so much at once.

And really, I wasn't kidding.

I don't need to have millions of dollars or a summer home, and I don't need a large backyard and some horses I will never ride.

I just need her to be okay.

And she is not.

But I am here, and she is here, and I am crying and who knows? Maybe if I had a father I would have more people that cared about me and loved me, and maybe I would have gotten a better score on that test in that class, and maybe I wouldn't have fallen off my bike so many times when I was little because he would have been there to teach me.

And really things seem shit.

I feel like shit.

But I feel okay.

I feel okay now.

Because she is here.

"Are you okay?" She asks after a while, making those gentle cooing noises and patting my back.

And boy, what a question that was.

Was I okay?

Well, I've been having a pretty bad day to be honest. I found out I didn't do too well on a test I wanted to do well on, and I thought about my father and his absence, and I found a hole in a t-shirt I like, and I stubbed my toe this morning, and I scratched a CD I really liked, and things seem to be going pretty bad.

But I'm feeling okay now.

"Well, I was having a totally shit and awful day and things were going just shit, but now it's totally okay, because you're here, and things can never be bad when you're here."

I say it completely honestly, because it is completely honest.

"I love you, you know that?" She asks

And I nod, because I do.

I do know that.

I do not know a whole lot in the grand scheme of things, but I do know that I love Emily Fitch, and that she loves me.

And there we are, once again on her bed, and we're just resting, and I could stay like this my whole life.

And the days go by, and I find it to be Valentine's Day, and so I buy some chocolates and some flowers and we sit in the park, and we eat the chocolates, and in a way it might feel unromantic, because we are just sitting, eating these chocolates and passing a bottle of champagne (thank you fake ID) around.

But it feels romantic to me because the flowers look so beautiful when she holds them, and for a second I almost believe that the only reason flowers were ever made was so that Emily Fitch could hold them in her hand in a dark park one day.

And it feels romantic because we are sharing my earbuds, and song after song comes on and some of them make me think of her smile, and some of them her laugh, or the way she talks with her hands, but I guess you could have played any song and I would have found some way to think about her.

And she's wearing my jacket, and the stars are so bright, and her eyes reflect them, and there are stars in her eyes and she is in my arms, and that's all the really matters.

Oxford commas do not matter, and other grammar techniques can get fucked.

A nice apartment in Paris does not matter the least fucking bit, and neither does a pair of designer shoes.

I don't need some lavish life.

I need her in my arms, with my jacket around her, and us lying on the grass looking like all lovers do in those movies you watch because they looked good and you decided to watch something that might mean something to you.

And the stars fade in and out, just like our consciousness.

And the last thing I remember before going to sleep was saying, "I really fucking love you, you know?"

The sprinklers are fucking demon children who spit in your soda.

Sorry, I know, how abrupt, but this was my first thought the next day when we woke up to sprinklers soaking us and coating us as we tried to gather our stuff.

And so we get in my mum's car, and we're laughing at the state of us.

"Breakfast?"

"It's like you read my mind, Nomi."

And so we're off and to some diner, one that I couldn't tell you the name of even if I sat down at my desk and spent an hour racking my brain.

The booth is cracked and once black, and we shuffle in, bumping together and giggling, and looking like one of those couples, the ones you think of when you think back to high school, and being young and in love.

"So, what do you plan on having, Ms. Campbell?" Emily asks in a proper kinda British accent, and I think the Queen would have been proud, or actually… scratch that, I think the Queen would have been mildly offended.

But I'm not the Queen, so I find it adorable.

"I think I'll be having the pancakes with a side of bacon," I say in the same accent. "And for you Ms. Fitch? What tickles your fancy?"

"Tickles my fancy? Oh god Naoms."

"Too much?"

"Just a bit. But I'll be having the pancakes and bacon as well." And we go back to the mildly offensive accents.

"Good choice, love."

And we continue to giggle like kids who think they got away with a dirty joke.

A waitress comes up to us midlaugh.

"What can I get you guys?"

Now, here would be the part where normal people order in there normal voice, effectively killing the joke, but I'm gonna let you in on a little secret:

I am not a normal person, nor is Emily.

And no, we are not government super spies, or something like that. I just mean that we are not normal, and I'm 100 percent fine with that.

And so here is the part where someone like me orders in their bad, posh accent.

"I'll take a the pancakes, and a side of bacon would be ever so delightful."

And I get a weird look from the waitress, but it's worth it because Emily is laughing and giggling, and biting her lip and trying to stop her smile, but it comes out anyways.

"I'll have the same, please. I'm quite puckish, quite," she says, mirroring my accent, and now I'm laughing, because it seems so stupid, but there is something so incredibly lovely about ordering pancakes and bacon in a horrible attempt at an accent with Emily.

But I guess everything is so incredibly lovely with Emily.

Because Emily is so incredibly lovely.

And because I love her.

And so I take one of the napkins from the cold metal dispenser, and I dig into my pocket for a pen, and I take it out and scratched out some words, because I will keep this napkin in my pocket, and I will tell my grandkids, the ones I am guessing I will have, that in bleeding blue ink I once scratched out some words about their grandmother, and yes, Emily will be their grandmother, and she will be my wife, because really, how else could it possibly go?

How could she not be in my future? Because I promise you that one day I will marry her, and we will have beautiful children and grandchildren, and cancer will be a distant memory.

But I will tell them that in a crusty, kinda strange diner, I once wrote with in that bleeding blue ink in scratched, and thick writing: 

I love you Emily Fitch.

Because I think that's really all that matters.

 **Huh.**

 **Yep.**

 **Alrighty then.**

 **So that was that. I really hope that you guys liked it and stuff.**

 **The next chapter will either be posted on Thursday or Sunday. I will not have my computer on the days in between.**

 **Also, I kinda want to make a playlist for this, but I'm not entirely sure yet, but just to let you know, during the home movies part, I listened to a song called Fireflies Made Out of Dust by Happy Jawbone Family Band, and no, I promise that is not a country song or country band.**

 **Not my favorite song or bad by a long shot, but I still like it.**

 **It just kinda gives me an old home movie kinda feel. But who knows?**

 **Listen to it if you want to, or don't. Like I said, I'm really not the type to try and "convert" you onto my music or anything like that.**

 **Anyways, let me know what you thought.**

 **See you soon.**


	14. Chapter 14

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hello! So sorry about the wait!**

 **Okay, so this chapter is a bit shorter and probably kinda shit because I wrote the whole thing in the last couple of hours.**

 **I did not have access my computer this weekend, and I wasn't able to write until today.**

 **Thanks once again for everything.**

 **I'm just gonna apologize in advance.**

 **Chapter 14:**

Do you want the good news or the bad news first?

I usually ask for the bad news first, so that way I can end on a positive note.

But then again, some people want to begin on a positive note.

Oh fuck.

You know what?

I've got an idea.

I'll flip a coin.

Heads = bad news first

Tails = good news first

Also, why do people choose heads because they think that it's more likely? There is _literally_ a 50 percent chance either way.

But anyways, I'll flip the coin.

Tails.

Okay, so the good news is that I managed to find two more movies.

They were from some people who were having a garage sale.

And imagine my surprise when Orange Delusional and The Adventures of Charles the Dog were just sitting on one of the tables.

So, I walked up to the man with a bad toupee and smelled of cheese and asked him how much the movies were.

Now, here was the part where you are expecting me to tell you that they were maybe $10 each.

Well, for people who are actually _sane_ that is what they would charge.

For people who were fucking deranged and wore stupid shirts unironically, this was where they charge you _$50_ a movie.

I am not someone who just has that kind of money to spend like that.

And so this was the part where I looked bummed out, and waited until the old tosser turned his back to go shout at his wife.

And this was the part where I grabbed the movies, and walked away, leaving $10, so I wouldn't be a total asshole.

I now have 10 of 15 movies, which is pretty fucking impressive if you ask me?

What's that?

Oh, you didn't ask me?

Oh… never mind then.

And now here comes the bad news.

I know, I'm sorry to be the sadist of the party.

"The sadist of the party? What's that?" you may ask.

Oh you know, the guy who sits in the corner and hisses death chants.

We've all been there.

But the bad news was Emily's hair fell out a bit more, and this led to a very awful realization that only more would leave her, and with that she cried again, and I held her in my arms as her body shook, and when she was done, I kissed her eyelids ever so slightly. And it's a very strange thing to kiss eyelids, but it felt like the right thing to do, and really, it's hard to not want to kiss every inch of her body.

And yes, for those of you with dirty minds, those parts too.

It's hard to watch someone who you think is truly, devastatingly beautiful think that they are not, that they look ugly, or silly, or anything like that. So when I took her on a date, bowling, she seemed so nervous.

And at first I put it down to her being nervous about the mad bowling skills she probably thought I acquired, which I did not.

But as the night when on, it became clear that she nervous not because of my talent, or really, lack of talent, but because she thought everyone was watching her.

"They probably think you feel bad for me, or like, you're volunteering to take me out of the hospital and spend the day with me," she had said write as I started my bowl.

At hearing this, I rolled the ball into the gutter.

"What? Why would you think that?" I could not believe what I was hearing.

If anything, she would be the one volunteering to take socially inept people like me out of their houses.

"Look at me Naomi," she said, gesturing to herself.

And so I looked at her.

I really looked at her.

And she looked beautiful. Really, stunningly beautiful.

She looked a little sick, her skin a bit paler, but really, she looked amazing. Really. I mean it. And you might think I'm bullshitting you, but I'm not. Please believe me when I say that she looked more beautiful than anyone else I had ever seen in the entirety of my 18 years.

"I'm looking at you Ems. And you look so incredibly beautiful."

"I'm sick Naomi. My hair is falling out. I'm paler and I look… sick."

And she was right.

But she was wrong, because she looked amazing.

"I don't think anyone else looks more beautiful than you do."

"Naomi, look at me."

"I am."

"Nomi…"

"Emily, please believe me. I don't know how else to say it. You look beautiful. Hair, no hair, whatever. Pale, or… less pale. I. Love. You."

And she seemed satisfied, with this, and so she hugged me, ad I picked her up a bit and spun her around, and she started to laugh, and things seemed fine.

"You really do suck at this," she laughed after I had hit an incredible two pins.

"My bad."

And with that we were laughing.

And then a few days later we were sitting on my bed, laughing.

"Okay, so would you rather have to eat your way out of an cage of cheese, or be a car tire for a day?"

"What kind of fucked up question is that?"

"A good one, now answer it."

"Cheese."

"Fucking knew it."

"What, how?"

"Ems, face it, you fucking love cheese, and being a car tire sounds fucking awful."

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

Wait.

What?

The question had come from fucking nowhere.

"Yes, I think you are very pretty."

"And my hair? What if people stare?"

"Let them stare. They have just never seen someone so amazing."

"Maybe I'll get a wig."

And with that I sprang up from my bed and ran into my closet, digging for something.

"Naomi? Is this your way of telling me you're going back into the closet?"

"Ha, bloody, ha."

And I pulled out a black beanie.

"Ta da!" I said, gesturing to the beanie.

"What?"

"It's a beanie," I said stating the obvious. "A lesbian staple. I mean, what else screams, 'I'm very very homosexual?'"

And she started to laugh, loudly and fully as I walked over and placed it on the top of her head.

She smiled, biting her lip, and grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me on top of her and onto the bed, and I became very very excited at the idea of what would happen next.

And there went her beanie, just as soon as it had been put on, and there went my jacket, thrown onto the floor, heart and peace patch and all, and there went my shirt, and her shirt, and our pants.

And there went her bra, and there went mine.

And gone was her underwear, and mine had disappeared too.

It was raining again, and it seemed like it was always raining as I flipped us over from the previous position, and my room was dark, the shades drawn, and dim, and it was a mess, but none of that mattered.

"Make love to me Naomi."

That was something you don't hear everyday.

And that's what we did.

I could go into detail, and maybe one day I will, but right now I won't.

But I will tell you this.

It was a scary thing at first. I was scared to hurt her, it seemed like she would be so much more fragile than last time, with the chemotherapy taking its toll, and everything.

But things were great.

Well, things were great until we were cuddling, naked, my mum decided to come upstairs, into my room.

"Love, I was wondering if you had seen my- oh!" And with that she was looking lovingly at me, and I was very unhappy with this.

"Mum! Get the fuck out!" I screeched as Emily tried to hide behind me.

"Now, no need to be rude love, it's all apart of life. Very natural. I remember when I was your age-"

"Stop talking! Please!"

"Oh alright love."

She shut the door, and I was staring at Emily, who had begun laughing, despite the fact that this was not a very fun situation for me.

"Oh Naoms, don't be such a grump."

"Ems… my mother had just walked in on me- naked."

"Would you have rather it been my dad? Or how about my brother? Katie?"

No, no, and no.

And so I pouted, yes, I pouted, and so she rolled her eyes, and kissed me, and I forgot what I was mad about.

It is a very lovely Tuesday, if I do say so, and I am carrying her books to class, and the day is still starting, and Emily's hair is still there, but less than previous.

And of course people stared and whispered, because when you're in high school, no one wants to be different, really.

I mean, I know I said being normal is bad, and it really is, but at the same time, you get made fun of when you aren't normal.

And so people whispered because Emily looked different, not like normal Emily.

It made me mad. And it made Katie mad too.

Because Katie did not care about a whole lot, but she did care about Emily, and really, those Fitchs could be scary.

I mean, Emily's dad was fucking terrifying, and her sister took after him in that respect.

And people received her glare and shut up, and things would have been fine if I had not been faced with a cross between Godzilla and fucking bigfoot, or her given name: Mandy.

Mandy was a bitch. She was a part of the bully group, which was pretty fucking scary.

It was the only group I had never made friends with.

And so fucking big bitch was standing there sneering at Emily, and it was really pissing me off.

So normal me would have tried to brush it off, tried to just roll my eyes and walk past, but Emily looked so self conscious, and Mandy wouldn't shut the fuck up, and so I took a deep breath, like all young prey do before they march up to some big fucking predator, passing Ems her books and ignoring her protests.

And Mandy was still pointing by the time I walked up.

"Is there a problem?" I asked, trying to muster courage I could not find.

"No, just," she laughed, "fucking nice of you Campbell isn't it? I mean, she's gonna lose all her hair, she's probably gonna look really fucking ugly, huh? Yeah, wouldn't want to be you."

I have never really gotten into a fight.

Okay, scratch that.

For one week in first grade, I was the schoolyard badass.

Her name was Addie Miviskin, and she very mean.

And things would have been fine, but she started bullying people, more and more, and I watched it happen, and then things got worse because she started bullying a kid named JJ.

Now, neither Cook or I were friends with JJ, but JJ was autistic, and I felt bad that he was just some kid, playing in the sandbox, all alone with the broken toy cars left behind in there, and that now he had to deal with the bitch that was Addie.

And so I intervened. The fight can't really be considered a fight, and it was over before it even really began.

But this was way different.

And so here was Mandy, laughing at Emily, and red-hot anger was coursing through me, and so I moved closer.

"What did you say?"

And she laughed again.

"You heard me."

Well obviously you stupid bitch. I was trying to see if you were smart enough to change your answer.

Obviously not.

And with that I pushed her back a bit, and a crowd gathered, and you could hear the clichéd oohs and ahs.

"Oh, you did not just do that."

I was also asking myself that. Did I really just push her? She's a fucking sasquatch, for fuck's sake.

She punched me. In the fucking eye.

I clutched at my face, already regretting this, and my next move, as I walked over, and hit her, very hard in the eye.

And with that she kind of tackled me, and we were rolling around, punching and shoving on the ground, and my nose was bleeding, and the crowd was chanting, and I was just trying to not die.

Cook had taught me something once a long time ago in case I ever got in a fight.

"Punch hard, fucking hard." Had been his advice, which I had kind figured out on my own.

But I was getting angry, very angry, and part of it was because Mandy had been mean to Emily, and the other part was because I was angry at the world, and I was taking it out on Mandy, and maybe that wasn't fair, because I guess it wasn't really her fault either. As mean as Mandy was, it wasn't her fault that Emily had cancer, but Mandy had made me angry, and so now here I was, punching harder than maybe thought was possible, and getting punched harder that thought.

It seemed to be taking fucking ages, but it couldn't have been longer than five minutes before teachers came and the back of my jacket was grabbed, and we were pulled up, and Mr. Dirken was trying to restrain Mandy, and Mrs. Incart had grabbed my ear, and I wanted to struggle or to try and get her off, but just like it wasn't Mandy's fault, Mrs. Incart didn't have any part of this.

And she didn't need this, she really didn't.

She needed something positive, and this wasn't it, and so we were frog marched down to the principal's office, and I should have been scared and regretting my choices, but I couldn't, because she had hurt _my_ Emily, and I was understanding her dad, and why he threatened me in case I hurt _his_ Emily.

And punishments were given, detentions and stuff that was supposed to make me nervous and scared, but I didn't care, because I didn't regret my actions.

"So, do you two understand?"

And we nodded.

"Do you two feel any regret?"

Mandy turned to me, and she didn't really seem to care, and so she shrugged, nose dripping blood, as was mine, and holding icepacks, as was I.

"Naomi?"

I cleared my throat.

"I don't regret it sir."

Maybe in his mind that was the wrong answer, but it was the honest one.

And I walked out of the office, and he was calling after me, but I didn't care, and I walked over to a locker, one belonging to some nameless kid, and I hit it, I hit it again and again with only more anger, just like I had Mandy, and I hit it until my knuckles were bleeding, because I was made at the world.

I was so fucking mad at the world, and for giving me something so wonderful, Emily, and for hurting her right in front of my own eyes.

I hit it one last time, with one last thud, and I walked back into the principal's office, ignoring the questioning looks.

"Sorry about that. I was just so angry, I thought that if I didn't go punch a locker, I might have to staple my own hand to the desk. Please continue."

"Right… uhhh, okay. You guys are free to go, no suspensions this time, but this is the warning. You have Saturday school."

And I walked out of the office, but I still felt angry.

At lunch I was sitting in the library with Cook, who I had just finished giving the details of the fight as he grinned and patted my back.

"Nomi! There you are," Emily said, walking in, and immediately cupping me face.

"Oh, your poor eye. Does it hurt?"

"It's okay."

She kissed it gently, and it felt so nice, even though it stung a bit.

And she turned to look at the phone, and she sat in my lap, and Katie, who had followed Emily into the library, sat in Cook's, and yes, my knuckles were bruised, as was my face, but I couldn't complain, because I really was happy with her here.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Absolutely not."

"There are a multitude of reasons as to why not."

"Oh, live a little Naomikins."

I was sitting on Cook's couch on Saturday after Saturday school, who had paused our movie, and was looking at me like a loon.

"I don't want to get my face bashed in again."

"She won't catch us T.P.-ing her house."

"Yes, Mandy probably has some kinda of third eye or something creepy like that."

"Not if we're quick."

Well, I really couldn't argue with that logic.

So I walked outside, taking out my phone and calling Emily.

"We have a plan."

"Continue."

And that is how Katie, Emily, Cook, and I ended up on Mandy's lawn, with a gym bag full of toilet paper rolls, and dressed in black, looking like tossers.

Game plan?

Fucking trash the place.

We grabbed rolls, filling our arms, and ran around, like it was a playground and we were overjoyed five year olds.

It was like a winter wonderland, strands of paper hanging off trees and bushes and coating the ground.

The place was filled with white, and yes, the eco warrior in me was screaming about the trees dying for my pity act of revenge, but I shook my head and grabbed another roll.

And I was laughing with Emily, throwing rolls and rolls somewhere that I wasn't paying attention to.

And the lights were hit on, and we heard a distinctly frustrated male voice yelling, and so we ran, away from our mess, laughing, and trying to hurry as I constantly checked back to make sure Emily was still keeping up.

We were standing in some nameless park, and we began to laugh, Katie shoving Cook playfully as we shook our heads.

"It's a good fucking thing you didn't wear heels, huh?" I laughed.

"Shut it Campbell."

And we were elbowing each other playfully, and Cook was looking around deviously, obviously proud at our act of revenge.

I felt like we were nine again, and stealing candy from candy shops, and I can't help but think how much better it would have been had Emily been there too, but I think my whole life would have been better if she was in it for longer.

Monday is finally here, and Mandy looks pissed, but she always looks pissed so it doesn't matter.

But what does matter is that chemotherapy is today.

And it matters because she is clutching my hand very tightly, and she looks panicked as they strap her up, and she's being too quiet for my liking, and things are too still, and we are just sitting and holding hands, and I'm reading aloud to her, and she is closing her eyes and nodding, and she had a soft smile on her lips, and I'm hoping it's genuine, and I hope that she is happy, because I can't stand the thought her that smile being forced like Mrs. Incart's.

So we are sitting, and she has begun to drift off, her head still on my shoulder a I continue to read aloud, and I continue to check on her, making sure she's comfortable, and that she's okay.

And eventually I find my eyes closing to, and so I put the book to the side, and I kiss her head, and I cuddle into her, my eyes closing to her gentle snores.

I really love her.

I have said it before, but I mean it when I say it:

I will marry this girl one day.

And that is a promise.

 **I'm so sorry.**

 **I know, I know, but I really wanted to stick by what I said and post it on time, and I hope you don't hate it.**

 **I will start chapter 15 now, and it will either be up Thursday or Sunday, because once again, I won't have access to my computer this weekend.**

 **Chapter 15 will be in Emily's pov, and we will learn more about what made her first go to the doctor and learn she had cancer.**

 **I'd like to take credit for this idea, but it was NegroAmigo's, so thank you for that.**

 **A guest named Mm gave me the idea for the beanie, and another guess gave me the idea for Naomi to take care of Emily in the last chapter.**

 **Thank you for those ideas.**

 **If you have an idea for the story, let me know. I might not include it, because I already have some ideas and I kind of know how I want to end this, even though we are not close to the end yet, but I will try to include them. No promises that I will, and please do not think that you're idea is bad if I don't include it.**

 **Anyways, let me know what you thought!**


	15. Chapter 15

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Let me start out by saying sorry.**

 **I am sorry for the waits, and the short chapters.**

 **I am swamped with school and an occasional social life. I tried to write a little bit each day, but even then, I wrote most of this today, so I hope it's not total shit.**

 **I still write a little each day, so do not worry, my updates will still come as frequently as they are now.**

 **Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, favorited, followed, or read the story!**

 **And thank you to LilyCanBeMyPyjamas for giving me a shot out! Both Paradise Hotel and Make Me A Bird were updated recently, and I'm already excited for the next chapter!**

 **So, away we go!**

 **Chapter 15: Emily**

The room is cold.

Like really fucking cold.

I hug Naomi's jacket a little tighter as she laughs prettily at the movie playing on my computer.

The chairs are deserted, empty and gone and left behind.

I wonder why that is.

Is it because the people that usually use them are off chemo today? Or is it because they are no longer around to use them?

I cuddle in closer to Naomi, clinging to her, looking for the support she always gives me.

She wraps her arm around me, and I feel safe.

A few months ago, things were different.

And it's funny, because I don't feel any different.

But it started with simple things:

Chills, a fever.

I felt tired more often than usual.

Katie's punches did more damage than usual, bruising me whereas they never did before.

But I ignored this, dismissing it and putting it down to odd things that happen to everyone.

Everyone gets nosebleeds frequently, and everyone has bone pain, and really, who doesn't excessively sweat during the night?

Well, turns out, not everyone does.

I was different, I _am_ different.

I'm sick.

But like I said, I didn't pay attention to it, choosing to dismiss it, to put it out of my mind, thinking that if I didn't worry about it, then it wouldn't hurt me.

Well, how fucking naïve I was.

And so mum took me to the doctor one day, and they ran all these tests, and then later on, it was October, and pumpkins were being placed on the steps and kids were already excited for the night where they could don a mask, and pretend to be someone other than themselves.

They could be anyone they wanted to be.

I, for example, would like to be a healthy person.

So it was October, and I was sitting in an uncomfortable chair, the ones you see on some dramatic soap opera where the main character goes into the hospital to receive some kind of life altering news.

And then mum was crying, and the doctor looked… guilty, almost, and her tears were wetting my shirt, like I have done to Naomi several times.

And I just sat there, staring straight ahead, not blinking, not moving, trying to slip away.

I did not slip away.

My days went from mindless things like perving on Naomi, and pretending to me interested in Katie's bitter gossip, to watching all these people cry.

My mum, my dad, my brother, my sister, my friends.

All of them cried a fucking river.

And it made me feel bad.

And yes, I know it's not my fault, but it's hard. It feels like it is. I'm the one who's making them feel so shit. They were fine before and now they're not.

I am the one who has to hurt them.

I feel a stab to my gut and I wince, twisting my head while Naomi looks at me in concern.

"Are you okay?"

I fake a smile.

I am not okay, not really.

Because she is looking at me with so much concern, and like nothing else in this world matters, and I don't want to worry her, and I don't want to hurt her, and I don't want to put her through any of this shit.

I wish I could just be healthy.

But I'm not.

And so I smile and nod, and tuck myself back under her arm because I always feel better when I'm with her.

* * *

Katie is sitting on my bed when I come home, and she has all these movies out on the bed, and I see snacks all around.

"I thought we could have a little twin time?" She asks kinda shyly, and it's strange because Katie never asks for anything, nor does she ever do anything shyly.

But she's looking so shy about it and I sit down next to her, a movie already playing on her computer.

"So… Ems…." She starts off and I have no idea where this conversation is heading, but I get ready for something awkward because this conversation does not feel like one that we usually have.

"So… Katie…." I mimic, trying to make this whole thing a little less awkward.

Things have never really been awkward between us, and this whole conversation already feels forced, like strangers at a business dinner, not twin sisters.

"How are you? You know… with the whole… cancer…." She says cancer quietly, like if she says it too loud it will appear out of nowhere and be like fucking Bowser from Mario.

I could tell her that everything is fine, that I feel good, I barely notice that I'm even sick.

I could say that I don't notice the whispers about my paling skin , or my hair, falling out slowly like I'm 92, not 18.

I could say that I don't think about what happens if the chemo doesn't work, and about all the people I would have to hurt.

I feel so fortunate to have people in my life that care about me, but I spend time thinking about how this hurts them, maybe it's killing them too, and I really hope it isn't, but I can't lie and say I don't notice my mum silently crying before she takes us to chemo, or that I don't notice the way my dad watches over me so much more carefully, scared that every little thing will hurt me. I can't say that I haven't noticed how James doesn't perve on me as much anymore, like he feels guilty doing that to a _sick_ person.

And I certainly can't say that I don't notice Naomi's black eye, the one she got for fighting that bitch. The one she got because her girlfriend has cancer, and people feel the need to talk about it, despite the fact that it has absolutely nothing to do with them.

So I tell Katie the truth.

 _I'm scared._

I remember when I was eight, and I was climbing a tree.

Katie and I had gotten into a fight about something stupid, and so I ran into our backyard, and I climbed the tallest tree, not even bothering to look down until I thought that I was high enough to have escaped from her wrath.

Things were so peaceful up there, and everything was quiet.

And I became scared though, when I looked down and my feet were on no solid ground.

I remember the fear coursing through my body as I found myself alone on a tree so high in the sky.

And now I feel like I'm eight again, scared that I am not on the solid ground that was my health.

I'm not even watching the movie anymore, it doesn't matter.

But Katie is holding me while I cry this out, and I feel so little, scared of the great big harsh world and all the things that could hurt me, and maybe we never really grow out of it.

Maybe I'll feel this way when I'm 26, and maybe when I'm 48, and maybe still when I'm 81.

Maybe we're always scared of the world.

It's a scary thing.

The possibilities are endless, and I haven't decided if that's a good or bad thing yet.

But I'm in Katie's arms, and I pull Naomi's beanie further down onto my head, because I need her.

I need her to love me and hold me and take me on bike rides and watch movies with me and I need her to kiss me and tell me stories about all the stupid things she did when she was little, because I need her.

Because I love her.

And so now I'm in Naomi's room with her, and we're listening to music and kissing, and all I can think about is how I want to do this forever.

I want to get married to her one day, and I want us to have kids one day, and I want us to have the white picket fence, and then I want rocking chairs and drinking lemonade on a porch.

And what if I don't get that?

What if I have no future?

And this thought alone freezes me.

She opens her eyes.

"Bad breath?" She asks, brows furrowing, and she does a sniff check.

"Doesn't smell too bad…" she murmurs to herself, now sniffing various parts of her body to see if they are the culprit.

"You okay?" She finally stops sniffing herself and asks.

"What if I die?"

And she pauses, and her eyes go wide.

"That won't happen," she says firmly, like because she has said so, it won't happen.

"But what if it does?"

And she looks so scared, and her eyes are brimming with tears.

"You won't," she says sternly.

"But what if…." I won't let the subject go.

She pauses, and wipes a few of the tears from her cheeks, and it really isn't fair. It isn't fair that we are 18, and we're talking about death.

It isn't fucking fair.

It's so goddamn unfair.

"If I lose you… I lose myself," she says shaky and firm all at once.

And now my heart hurts… it really does. Because it shouldn't be like this. Everything should be fine, and the last thing I ever wanted to hear was that she will lose herself, that she will not be okay, because I need her to be okay.

I need her to be happy, and to smile, and I don't want her to hurt because of me, even though it's not my fault.

I move into her a bit, and she's crying silently, not the body shaking and heaving type you see, but the type you see where the tears are just coming down, falling and dripping off the face, and I'm crying loudly, sobs being lost in the crook of her neck.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you," I say, because I know that she knows, but I need to be sure she does.

"I love you," she says, and still my heart swells up with happiness at her words.

"I promise you Emily, one day I'm gonna marry you, and we're have kids running around in the yard, and Katie and Cook will have kids, and our kids will be best friends with their kids, and they'll do all the stupid stuff we used to do. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep. I might die Naoms."

"I promise you Emily."

I pull away, and look into her icy blues, rimmed red."

"Yeah?"

And I know she can't really be 100 percent sure that everything will work out, but she says it like she knows, like she's seen our future and it's bright.

"Yeah."

She says it so sincerely, and meaning it completely, that I can't not believe her.

And so in fifteen years, I will be in our house, as the kids our outside, running around, and she chases them.

I will not be in a coffin, buried six feet under while Naomi thinks about all the conversations we'll never have, and all the things we'll never do, and how she'll never see me again.

* * *

The old lady next to me has been staring at me for the last half hour. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was checking me out.

I mean, she's obviously not.

But she keeps on staring at Naomi sitting next to me in the big chemotherapy chair, as she keeps smiling and reading a magazine out loud in a stuck up accent.

"'And so Don Henmenlin and his new girlfriend were… canoodling…' canoodling? The fuck is this? 'in a restaurant.'"

I find myself laughing, and I start to cough.

"Are you okay? What hurts? Do I need to get a nurse?" She's all over me in a second, making sure I'm alright and everything is okay.

"I'm fine. It just hurts a bit to laugh."

"Then I will be the least funny and most serious person ever to exist. Like one of those Buckingham Palace guards with the tall, poofy, black hat."

And once again I laugh, coughing just a bit.

"Really Nomi, it's fine. Just something to drink would be great."

"On it." And with that she leaps up and is out the door.

"Cute."

I turn to look at the old woman, the only other person in the room, occupying a seat across from me.

"You guys make such a cute couple. Reminds me of me and my Harry."

I blush.

"Is that your husband?"

"Yes, yes. Wonderful man, oh there were stars in his eyes when he looked at me," she says with a sad and distant smile.

And now I'm thinking of how Naomi looks at me the same way.

"Where is he now?" I ask, because now all I want to do is learn more about them.

She sighs, frail shoulders heaving.

"Passed a few years ago. The house always seems too quiet without him. Oh, he had such a marvelous booming voice. He used to tell me that his voice could be heard from a football field away," she says, still looking away, kinda sad, and kinda smiling.

"I'm sorry," I say, because there isn't really much more to say.

"Me too dearie. Oh, I remember our honeymoon, what a stubborn man. You know we got engaged in an argument?"

"Really?" I'm intrigued.

"Sure. I didn't want to go back home to see my parents again, and boy was I mad. And he kept on urging me and begging me and finally he just pulled out the ring and said he was gonna do it while we were visiting."

She was laughing a bit, and a feeling of melancholy filled the room.

"Alright, I wasn't sure what type of drink you wanted, so I got you all your favorites," Naomi says, an armful of drinks being put down on a table by the chair.

"Okay, so we have Coke, Sprite, water, coffee with two sugars and cream, and cinnamon tea."

"Where did you even get all of this?"

"Vending machines, and bribing one of the nurses to get me coffee and tea from the break room."

I laugh at her sweetness and at all the drinks covering to table.

I grab the coffee and take a sip, offering the tea to the kind stranger.

Naomi follows my eyes and grabs the tea handing it to the woman who simply smiles and takes a large sip.

"Oh, dearie, this one is definitely a keeper," she says, gesturing at a blushing Naomi.

"I think so too," I say smiling.

* * *

"So what college interests you?" I ask, flipping through my large book of colleges.

She has applied to a few already, but I'm trying to get her to apply to more.

"I don't know."

"Okay, well, how's your application going?" I ask, gesturing to her computer on which she's doing the application.

"Shit."

"What? Why?"

"These questions are stupid. 'Tell us about yourself. What are you? Who are you?'"

"It's not that bad…"

"It's pretty bad."

"Well, act like it's a first date. Tell the college about yourself," I supply, semi-helpfully.

"I've never been on a good first date apart from ours."

 _Ours._

Something about that just feels right.

One day it will be our wedding, our house, our kids.

"Okay… well what's something that you think that's important. What are you? Well… let's see. You're funny, smart, kind, sweet, amazing, the best girlfriend ever…"

"Well, you might be a bit biased on that one."

"Just a bit."

I kiss her nose.

We lie down, and I cuddle into her.

"My head hurts with all this college stuff," she groans.

I place a gentle kiss to her temple.

"Better?"

"Try again."

I place another.

"You know what, just keep doing that."

I swat her stomach.

"Write!" I laugh.

"No. It's too much work," she rolls over.

"Naomi!"

"You know what's better than working on college applications?"

"What?"

"Not working on college applications."

"Oh quiet you!" I laugh, and start to cough a bit.

"Are you okay?" She looks at me cautiously.

I start to have a fit, face turning red as I try to catch my breath.

"Emily? Emily?" Naomi's reaching out, handing me water, patting my back, looking absolutely terrified.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, really."

But I'm not.

I'm dying.

And that is something I will never accept.

And I know that is something that Naomi will never accept.

Because we shouldn't have to.

Really, we shouldn't.

I should not have to shrug it off, and say, "Oh well."

I should not have to be called a person in denial.

I am not.

I am very aware that I have cancer.

The difference is, I do not accept it.

I do not accept that I just have to deal with this, that this is my life, and that all this shit is happening.

I mean, I know it's happening, but I will never be okay with it.

I will never say that I am okay with it, or that these things happen, because they do, but it's always such a fucking unfair thing.

Naomi's still looking at me warily, still eying me with caution.

"I'm fine," I repeat, meaning it a little bit more.

"So, back to the college applications?" She asks, sitting up.

"What question are you on?"

I bet she's almost done. She's probably on one of the very last questions.

"Question 2."

Well that's a little different.

"Okay, I'll make you a deal: For every question you complete, you get a kiss," I say, straddling her legs.

"Deal," she says with no hesitation, and picks up the computer.

"'What do you want your future roommates to know?"' She reads aloud.

"That you have a smoking hot girlfriend," I say, only half joking.

She furrows her brow and types, poking her tongue out of her mouth ever so slightly.

"Alright, done with question 2. Now you have to kiss me. Pucker up buttercup!"

I roll my eyes and smile into our kiss.

"'Describe one of your greatest accomplishments,'" she reads the next one.

"Landing a super hot girlfriend," she says.

"Shut up and write!" I laugh, swatting her arm.

"And… d… done! I'm done! Kiss me woman!"

And so I do.

Our kiss deepens, and I push back on her chest.

"Answer another one!"

"'Name some of your best qualities.'"

"Your smart, sweet, kind, lovely, funny…." I list off.

"Done! I want another kiss."

Her hands start to wander into the kiss, grazing my breasts.

"Naomi!" I slap her hands away.

"But…."

"Finish and then you'll get lucky," I say smirking.

"Doing it now!" She starts furiously typing as I laugh at her eagerness.

She continues to write.

"Well this question is stupid," she frowns.

"What is it?" I ask.

"'What are you?'"

"A person?" She asks.

"No, just think, what are you?"

She pauses, eyebrows furrowing again.

And she's got…

Nothing.

"Okay, we'll come back to it," I say finally, when I'm scared she will end up thinking so hard she breaks.

And so she continues, finishing each question until she's left with the one she doesn't understand.

It's late, and buckets of rain are coming down.

"It's getting pretty late," she says, and she packs up her stuff, kissing me goodbye, and she's almost out my bedroom door when she pauses.

"You know, I think I finally have an answer for the question."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, you know, of all the things I think I am, I think the thing I am most is yours."

And with that she's out the door.

Naomi Campbell is mine.

And I, Emily Fitch, am hers.

 **Short, I know.**

 **Bad, I know.**

 **But there we go.**

 **I will start work on Chapter 16 tomorrow, and I'll either have that up Friday or Saturday, Sunday at the very, very latest.**

 **Thank you so much!**

 **Let me know what you thought!**


	16. Chapter 16

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Sorry!**

 **I am so sorry!**

 **Once again, another long wait and a bit of a short chapter! And now you guys must be thinking that this is when the excuses come in, and so, here they are.**

 **School is fucking insane, so many tests and so much homework, and like I said, occasionally I have a social life, and I have just been so busy!**

 **I'm really sorry that this took so long. It seems like I always update on Sunday. Maybe I should just make that my update date. Who knows? I just started Chapter 17 though!**

 **Thanks for everything. I will never be able to tell you how much all this means to me.**

 **So, shall we go onto the next chapter?**

 **Let's go!**

 **Chapter 16:**

Do you remember a time in your life when you were just so incredibly blissfully happy?

Maybe it was when you were at that party with all those people, you know, the ones you care about so deeply, not on the surface level like so many others.

Maybe it was when you were at that concert, and that artist made you feel alive again, and you smiled the whole time.

Or maybe it was that time when you were at that place, with that person, and all you could think about was of how of all the people there are in the world, you are the only one getting to experience this exact thing.

I was in Cook's mom's car, and Katie was sitting up front, holding his hand and shit, being all coupley and in _love._

Yes, I know, it surprised me too when my best mate in all the land sat on his beaten couch, and smiled a cocky smile, and I thought he was about to read something from my least favorite saga:

 _Tales of Cook and Katie's Sexual Adventures: Volume 6: The Kinky Times_

Instead he continued smiling his smug smile, and turned over to me.

"She loves me," he said smugly.

"What?" That had not been what I had been expecting to hear.

"I told her I love her, and guess what?" He said, pretending to dust a shit ton of dirt off his shoulder.

"She told you she loved you too?" I asked, deciding to use previous clues to answer this ever so difficult question.

"On the money."

But I digress.

We were in the car, and Emily and I were in the back, and her head was on my shoulder, and we weren't driving anywhere specifically, just driving around, deciding we'd stop when we'd stop.

And music was playing, not too loud, not too soft, just right, like Goldilocks herself was testing it out, smug little perfectionist bitch she is.

And it was music I loved, and I was so incredibly, blissfully, happy.

Driving aimlessly in a car, with some of the people I love most in this world, listening to some of the music I love most in this world, and just being.

Does that make sense?

To just be?

I don't know.

But there always has to be some kinda hidden meaning, and something else, and we never just let things be.

And so just being here with them, just being like this, well… I felt right.

I don't know if I'm making any sense anymore.

Emily's eyes held all the passing lights, bright and beautiful, forming stars of a different kind.

I held her hand, reaching out, my pinky inching over slowly, until my hand completely covered hers.

I could have just grabbed it, but I tried for the subtle approach.

I broke out into smile.

Every time I held her hand, even though I've now done it many times, it felt amazing. Her hand just fit mine like it was meant to be, like our hands exist for the sole purpose of holding each other's.

The familiarity was there, like we had been doing this for centuries.

The music was on a cycle, an album playing again and again, but never seeming to get old.

And everything is so amazing.

Katie is laughing at something Cook said, and Emily's buried her head into my shoulder, kissing it, and she's wearing my jacket again.

Have you ever seen those high school movies, those ones filled with clichés?

The cheerleader girlfriend always wears her football boyfriend's jacket, and that's just how it is.

I am not saying it is the same, not at all, but I'm saying that I can understand why that would happen.

There is something immensely beautiful about seeing her wear something that means so much to me. It just makes me happy.

It's just giving another part of me to her, and while that might have scared me before, it only makes me happy now.

And so we're driving, the sky dark and still, and the trees and buildings are passing us in blurs, and it reminds me of the night when we went to that diner.

Nothing else seems to exist at this moment.

It just us and music.

There's no homework or tests, or reminders that college is around the corner, and no angry bus drivers who yell when the container of yogurt they decided to eat during a route with many speed bumps, ruins their shirt.

There's no cancer.

Just us.

People always refer to your high school years as your glory days, the ones you will crave when you're old, and you're tired and sad, because people say that's what always happens:

You grow up and you become sad, an adult passing through life just barely, hardly finding any reason to get up in the mornings anymore, other than something trivial like my boss will be mad if I don't.

And then all you do is talk about the time you did that thing with those people, and you were actually happy.

That's what people always say.

I don't think this is necessarily true, but if it is, and I am doomed to a life of misery, which I honestly don't see possible if Emily's by my side, then this is what I will look back on.

I will look back on the time when we were in the car, and Cook kept on driving, speeding up faster and faster until Katie swats at him and tell him to:

"Stop driving like a prick or else you'll be having a lonely night, Mr. Future Blue Balls."

And Emily is so beautiful, with her hair kinda messy, even though she has less of it now, and her smile so beautiful, and she is holding my hand, and my jacket is clinging to her tightly, she's bundled in it proudly, and she's laughing at something stupid I said, but that part doesn't matter because she's laughing, and it makes my stomach flutter.

All I want to do is shout something loud, something loud for the world to hear, something probably clichéd like, "This is what it means to be alive!" or maybe something that actually means something, like, "I love this girl! Holy fuck I love this girl!"

So then we're stopped, and we're standing on the top of some hill, and yes you have probably seen this all before, in one of those clichéd scenes in some clichéd movie you saw. The one where all the critics called it confusing, and you understood it, and thought they were morons for not understanding.

Emily's hand is in mine, and I feel alive, adrenaline coursing through my young body, and so I shout loudly, looking at all the houses down below us, where people are sleeping and not driving aimlessly.

"I will marry Emily Fitch one day!" I yell it loudly, and Emily's smiling, and Cook's laughing, and Katie's being Katie and fighting back a smile at my words.

I need the world to know.

I need everyone to know.

And so I shout it again and again until my lungs burn, and until Cook is shouting that he will marry Katie, and Katie is smiling and so is Emily, and they are smiling so largely, that their cheeks must hurt.

And everything is still.

There is a hazy fog settling over a series of bright twinkling lights in the distance.

March is fast approaching, and temperatures continue to be cold and hazy, rain and gloomy skies.

I kiss the top of Emily's head, and tighten the grip on her hand.

I never want to stop holding her hand.

I leaned over and kissed her.

"Naomi and Emily sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage!" Cook sang loudly, tauntingly.

"I can't exactly get Emily pregnant now can I?" I said, looking back at him and Katie, still holding Emily's hand, who just smiled largely.

"Oh, I'm sure you'd find a way Naomikins."

* * *

"And then, she was just going for it and-"

"No."

" _Cum_ again?" Cook says with a cheeky smile, laughing at his ability to change the word come to cum.

We were in the park, Paddy on his non-pussy flame bike we had bought him for Christmas.

He was riding around in circles throughout the park, while we sat on one of the old benches and watched.

"I do not want to hear about what you and Katie got up to the other night."

"Why not? It was _very_ enjoyable."

He's grinning ear to ear.

I am about to throw up.

I have learned way too much about Katie. _Way_ too fucking much. Oh god, I'm shuddering just thinking about it.

Barf.

But moving on.

Paddy was riding around and yelling at the top of his lungs while Cook took another drab of his cigarette, inhaling it and releasing it with a relaxed effort, blowing smoke out in expert rings.

Puff, puff, puff.

He seemed to be in thought, looking straight ahead.

"Are you scared?" He asked finally.

Vague question. Was I scared?

Was I scared that Paddy was about to fall and break every bone in his body?

Yes.

Was I scared that I wouldn't get accepted into a college I wanted?

Yes.

Was I scared about life after high school?

Yes.

Was I scared about Emily's cancer?

Yes.

I would like to say I wasn't scared of any of those things. That all of them didn't faze me. I was tough, nothing could scare me.

But I couldn't say that. I'm human, and I can be scared, and I am scared. I'm scared of all those things.

So I kept my answer simple, because I didn't think it was possible to make it complicated.

"Yes."

And Cook accepted this, once again taking a drab.

"Me too," he said finally, through an exhale of smoke, "me too."

I leaned my head against his shoulder, and I watched the dark clouds come, and yes I know, cliché, but they came anyway because clouds don't give a fuck about your clichés.

And so they came, as did the rain, dousing us and Paddy, who just continued to ride around, probably not even noticing.

We started back, Paddy riding ahead, Cook and I following.

"Let's go fucking swimming," Cook said out of nowhere, stopping and looking at a house with a gate.

"What?" I asked, not entirely sure what was happening. The sky was getting darker, the rain was constant. Now, I am not some kinda swimming time expert, but I was certain this wasn't it.

"Let's go fucking swimming," Cook said once more, still not getting the whole part where he was supposed to explain his irrational idea.

"No, I got that part."

"Let's go swimming. The people obviously aren't home, it's late, no one will see."

Paddy had peddled back, obviously interested in what his bat shit older brother was saying.

No, Paddy, stay away from the light that is Cook's awful ideas.

"Come on!" And with that he started to climb the rather large, looming fence in front of us, and Paddy was all excited, and I was pissed that the Paddy card had been played.

I lifted him up to Cook's waiting hands, and began climbing the fence, grumbling about Cook and his shit ideas.

I jumped down, and watched as Paddy jumped into the pool, screaming "Cannonball!" and leaving his little shirt and pants behind, just in his tighty whities.

Cook did the same, leaving himself in a pair of boxers, running after Paddy and splashing in.

What a cliché.

Swimming at night, in the rain, in someone else's pool.

But is it so wrong to love a cliché?

Because I find myself stripping down to my bra and girly boxers, and diving in, laughing when I come up and see Paddy clinging to Cook's neck.

And I'm smiling.

The rain is hitting our heads, and the sky is dark, and the water is cold, but we splash about, and I'm laughing.

Paddy is swimming around, and my heart feels a twinge of sadness.

What will happen next year?

What happens when Cook leaves for college? What happens to Paddy?

Does his mother automatically become better, because she has to now? Or does it not matter?

Does it not matter to her?

I would hope it does.

And what happens to my mum?

After Tina died the house was quiet, because it always seems quieter when someone leaves.

And what about when I leave? It'll be silent.

It's always been mum and me, and now it'll be just her, in a quiet house, and how will she cope with that? The silence will be deafening. No screaming, no laughing, no stumbling in at three in the morning.

Just her.

And it's unfair.

I'm sorry, I don't mean to complain, but it really is unfair.

Because there are all these families, and the kids can leave and maybe they feel bad when they do, but some of them will never have to leave the house silent.

I am the one who will leave my mother, the one who will make the house quieter.

My mum has had too many people leave her.

But I shake my head, because I'm losing track of what I'm saying, and Cook is jabbing at my side.

"Blondie!" Cook swims over to me, and splashes me.

"Oi, twat. Could you be any less graceful?" I ask, splashing him back.

"Probably." And with that a wave of water approaches.

I look up and see his grinning face.

"Oh, you're so gonna pay." And I swim after him.

We're walking back, hair wet, clothes soaked, sky dark, and Cook keeps on bumping into me as we get closer to his house.

"Hey, Naomio, I've been thinking."

"That's a dangerous combination: Cook and thinking."

"Shut up!"

"Alright, alright. What have you been thinking about?"

He's probably been thinking about what would happen if he had four cookies, and he ate three of them.

"Next year."

"Oh."

I'm surprised he's been thinking about the future. He always wants to live in the moment, and now he's thinking about the next.

"Maybe Paddy, could… live with your mum or something? I know it's a lot to ask, but…"

"I think she would like that very much."

And we continue walking.

* * *

Emily's asleep. We're on her bed, her head on my shoulder, and her breathing even, gentle inhales and soft exhales, and it sounds so wonderful that it could be my favorite song.

Well, second favorite.

Her laugh is my favorite.

I brush my fingers through her hair, finding the strands of red to be a bit thinner than before, but I continue to play with it softly, combing and smoothing it between my fingers.

Her face is nuzzled into my collarbone, vibrations of whispers of snores.

I want nothing else at this moment.

Sorry, I didn't mean to get all tumblr posty on you, but it's true. Having her sleep next to me, bodies entangled like lost puzzle pieces that finally found each other again, is what makes my heart soar, fly so high with all the planes, and all the clouds floating by.

She mumbles into me, something along the lines of, "I'll take fries with my burger please."

I laugh.

I press a chaste kiss onto the top of her head, and run my hands up her arms.

Gentle murmurs spill quietly from her just open lips.

I kiss her forehead this time, and I hear a soft sigh.

And so I kiss her eyelids.

And I kiss her nose.

I kiss her lips.

Her neck.

I kiss her fingertips, all of the tiny ten.

I kiss her.

And I never want to stop kissing her.

* * *

The chair is cold, and I don't like the way it feels.

It's hard and uninviting, already telling me to leave despite the fact that I just got here.

 _We_ just got here.

Emily is sitting in the chair next to mine, as is her mum.

The doctor is sitting in front of us, hands clasped, face serious, but I'd like to think his face is always serious, and that maybe it's just stuck that way forever, and not that he has bad news.

He has bad news.

I just didn't know that yet.

How would I have?

In the deepest pits of my heart I would have never guessed it could be anything bad, because it was Emily, and I couldn't find it in my heart to even contemplate anything bad _ever_ happening.

"Chemotherapy is… working, well… kind of. It is not having the desired effect. In fact, it's… well, it's moving at a much slower rate than we thought it would."

Her grip on my hand tightens, and I hear a breath of surprised, scared, air being breathed in.

"What does that mean?" Mrs. Fitch asks, and I can hear the tightness in her voice.

He rubs his temple, like _he's_ the one being given bad news.

"We're thinking that maybe chemotherapy gets a bit more intense. Pills added to the mix, maybe longer visits. We just thought it would be easier," he said finally.

Someone chokes out. I think it was Emily, but I really couldn't tell you, because I was slipping away.

Things were happening in technicolors that I never imagined, shades of reds and oranges appearing where I had only envisioned hues of blues and green.

Emily was wetting my shirt with tears, head buried into my shoulder as Mrs. Fitch started crying in the back.

The doctor slips away, but I don't register it happening.

I finally snap out of it, and I hold Emily in my arms, tight.

Her mascara is staining my shirt, but I don't care.

I care about the girl who's staining my shirt.

And so I hold her, I hold her like the world around us is crumbling, because it feels like it is.

I hold her as she cries, and I can't help but feel my own tears wetting my cheeks.

She needs to be okay.

She has to be okay.

I desperately need her to be okay.

Without her, there is no me.

I can't imagine a life without her.

There is no life without her.

Because we will get married, and we will have children, and we're be living in a home with a yard, and there will be a garden for my mum's sake.

And cancer can't take her away from me.

I need Emily more than I think I've ever needed anything.

And so I whisper soft, "It's okay," into her hair, even though it's not okay.

It's so goddamn unfair.

I kiss her forehead.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you," I say again and again.

"I love you," she says.

* * *

We're sitting on her bed, and we're watching a movie, and she's been a bit quiet.

She's entangled into me.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"I'm just scared."

"I won't let anything happen to you," I tell her, and I mean it.

I will hold her so tight, nothing can happen to her. I will kiss any danger away, and I will do anything I can.

And so she kisses me, deeply and fully, and my hands drift to her waist, and she wraps her arms around my neck.

And so things deepen, and clothing is thrown off, and eventually it's just skin.

It's just skin.

My skin against her as I kiss her sweaty neck, and as her nails dig into my back.

Her skin on mine as she licks me in _the spot,_ and as I bunch her hair up in gentle fists, and as I do the same, me gradually kissing down her mesmerizing body, spending extra time worshipping her breasts, her amazing breasts.

* * *

I wake up to a car turning off loudly, and someone getting out.

Emily is looking around wildly, wondering whom it could possibly be when her eyes go wide.

"Dad's home."

Say it with me, all together now! Repeat after me:

Oh.

My.

Fucking.

God.

I'm.

About.

To.

Get.

Scotty.

Renolded.

I hear the noise of the front door opening.

"Get dressed now!" She whisper shouts as I struggle to throw on clothes, jumping into my boxers and clipping my bra very quickly.

I hear the stairs being climbed by heavy footsteps.

"Emsy! Emsy! I'm home!" He shouts while Emily thrusts my clothes at me and whispers, "No time!"

I look around for a hiding place.

Under the bed? No.

In the closet (Pun not intended)? No.

Out the window? Yes.

I thrust it open and toss my clothes out, watching as they land far below.

I can hear the sound of her door opening just as I step out, dropping down so I'm dangling, barely holding onto the ledge.

"Why are you under the covers? Are you naked, Emsy?"

"Uh, I… just got out of the shower dad."

I try to prepare myself for the drop.

"But your hair's not wet…"

"Well, I uh… I wore a shower cap!"

"Uh… Ok, then."

I drop, landing on my feet and looking wildly around for my clothes, racing into my pants, buckling my melt, and fumbling to put my shirt on.

Then comes the jacket and the socks and shoes.

"I thought Naomi was coming over today."

I freeze.

Now would be a good moment to run.

Now would be a great moment to run.

Now would be an excellent moment to run.

"No! I mean, no… just me…."

Smooth Emily, smooth.

"Okay, hmmm, do you hear something coming from outside?" He asks, confusion lacing his voice.

NOW WOULD BE A SPEC FUCKING TACULAR MOMENT TO RUN.

So I do, running and running so that way I don't get Scotty Renolded.

Oh, would you look at that, I made his name a verb.

 _Scotty Renolded_

 _(Scot-ty Re-nol-ded)_

 _The act of having Mr. Rob Fitch beat the shit out of you after he catches you having sexual intercourse with one of his daughters._

 _Example: Naomi Campbell will get Scotty Renolded real bad if she does not leave now._

As I'm running crazily, I feel my pocket vibrate.

I take out my phone and read the message from Emily.

"U r crazy."

I reply.

"I love you."

My smile brightens hugely when I read her reply.

"I love you too."

And so maybe, things look a bit bleak right now, but maybe that doesn't matter.

Because right now I just dug into the inside pocket, and I found the napkin from that gross diner, the one I will tell our grandchildren about.

The ink is a bit faded, but I can still make out the words clearly, the ones that matter more than anything else.

I love you Emily Fitch.

 **Alright, alright, alright.**

 **I know that you might be worried about the whole chemotherapy not having it's desired effect, but like I said, I am no sadist. That would be Jess Brittain.**

 **Any of you see the Lily picture Kat tweeted and instagrammed. I think it's cool that they're still close.**

 **Anyways.**

 **I hope you guys liked that.**

 **Next chapter will be up Thursday or Sunday, most likely Sunday.**

 **Let me know what you thought!**


	17. Chapter 17

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **So we got a short chapter, and not a very good one either. I wrote this kinda fast, so please bear with me here. I know it's not very good.**

 **Also, Happy Birthday to LilyCanBeMyPyjamas! I know this is a bit late, but I hope you had a great day.**

 **Thanks again to everyone, really, it makes me so incredibly happy and I feel so amazingly fortunate.**

 **Are you ready?**

 **I'm just gonna say sorry in advance.**

 **Chapter 17:**

"I don't want to take them. They taste like utter shit, Naoms."

There is an assortment of pills, varying in colors, shapes, sizes, and jobs.

"They're not _that_ bad, I mean, god knows how many pills Cook and I have taken in our lifetimes."

"Not funny."

She doesn't want to take them, and who can blame her? There's one that looks like the color of cat piss, and trust me, that's not a good color.

They're for her cancer.

Ever since that day, you know the one, she's been taking a series of pills, and she's due to start staying at the hospital if things don't improve.

And they haven't been.

I would love to lie and say that everything has gotten better, and that the cancer is going away, but I won't do that to you. You deserve to know the truth, even if it hurts.

To hear that she wasn't getting better, it was like, well it was like this one time when I was little.

I was probably seven, almost eight, and I was walking to school with Cook, and we were a little scrappy looking.

Our pants were a little short, and our t-shirts had small holes forming near the collars.

But I remember we were walking home from school one day, and I remember this one kid, large and mean and with jagged teeth jutting out in different directions, and he just looked like a bully.

And he was.

He was probably 11 or 12, and we were just walking, but I remember one day he wasn't there, and then the next he was, standing there, hands balled in fists, and then I remember being scared.

I just saw him, and I was scared.

And my fear was confirmed when he began shouting at us, insults about out clothes and such, things about our mothers and out houses, and things about ourselves.

Things that hurt.

And then I remember him chasing us, chasing us down the streets, as we ran and ran.

Sometimes we were faster.

Sometimes we weren't.

And those times when we weren't, we were hit until our noses trickled with blood and our eyes were rimmed with black eyes.

And when my mum or Tina would ask what happened I gave some excuse, I fell, I tripped, I ran into a poll.

Why? 

Because mum cried herself to sleep, and Tina had stopped being able to zip up my sweatshirt because she didn't have control of her hands anymore. Mum hid a picture of dad underneath her bed, and asked for him to come back, even though she knew he wouldn't, and Tina put the wrong food on my sandwiches because she stopped remembering what I liked, and she couldn't make out the jars anyways.

I didn't think they needed anything more.

They didn't need another problem.

And so I came home either panting and out of breath, or beaten up.

And I felt helpless. My dad was gone. My mum's smiles were watery or plastered on. Tina was slowly dying and I knew it.

I felt like everything in my life was just shit, and I had no control, and I had no way of making it better.

I couldn't make dad come back, and I couldn't make my mum happy, and I couldn't stop Tina from dying.

And so now I'm 18, and I feel like I did all those years ago.

Because the world around me is slowly crumbling as Emily continues to get sicker and sicker, and I have absolutely no control over this.

I can't do anything, and I feel awful.

All I can do is watch it happen before my very eyes.

So now her skin is paler, and she sometimes she coughs when I make her laugh, and she asks me to hold her after a new strand of hair falls out, and sometimes she gets sick, and I always pick her up and carry her to bed when she does.

Emily picks up the pills and downs them like shots, twisting her face up when she's done, and knitting her eyebrows together.

"I bet they tasted like strawberries and rainbows," I say, a sickly sweet smile plastered on my face, teasing her.

"More like old milk and bad morning breath."

"Fun," I say dryly.

She laughs.

Want another short little story? 

No?

Well, here it is anyways.

Sorry to force them on you.

I was nine when I first heard her laugh.

Cook, yes, Cook is in my story again, because Cook is like family, one of the only people to have never left me.

But like I was saying, Cook was sitting next to me in our little third grader desks, the ones we sat at with pride because we thought we were so big and cool and old and superior.

I mean, we were none of those things, but we felt like we were.

I turned to Cook, and I said something, I don't even remember what because that wasn't the important part of the story.

But what is is that I heard a little laugh behind me, soft and melodious.

It was hers.

Her hair kept neat with a cute little bow propped on top, and she laughed at my overheard joke, and when I turned around, she was blushing.

And I felt like I had just gotten stamps on all my papers, and star stickers on all my drawings.

I felt like I had done something truly incredibly by making her laugh.

So I made another joke.

Just loud enough for her to hear. And then I made another and another as her gentle laughter grew louder and she was clutching at her stomach.

I was addicted.

But I've come to realize that I am addicted to every aspect of Emily Fitch.

Kissing her, holding her hand, looking into her eyes, talking to her about some old story…

I was addicted.

I am addicted.

She grabbed my hand and we walked down her stairs, and I noticed all the small changes.

The pictures in the hallway were rearranged a bit, pictures of Emily seeming more prominent than before.

There were more flowers on the mantle, cards too, and I hoped it was someone's birthday, and not a way of showing condolence.

Her red door's paint was peeling more and more, cracks a bit more prominent and deep.

She pulled out her yard and onto her sidewalk, her hand still clutched in mine.

"Where are we going?" I ask, as she swings out intertwined fingers back and forth.

"I want ice cream," she says. 

Well, then who am I to deny her ice cream?

"Let's got then!" I shout, yanking her forward, running, sprinting, dragging her along with me.

"Naomi!" She laughs, starting to run a bit.

"Come on slowpoke!"

Naomi!" She isn't laughing.

"Come on!"

"Naomi!" She lets go of my hand.

I turn behind me almost immediately.

"Are you okay?" I run back and I'm instantly all over her, panting her back as she coughs.

"Yeah, just… just… not… so… fast," she gasps out, and I realize she can't just run like she could before.

"Oh god, I'm such a fucking moron!" I hit my own head a few times, wishing someone would just do it for me.

"Naoms… it's fine," she says, reassuring me with one of her beautiful smiles, but something is really bothering me, and I'm not sure what it is.

I bend down.

"Come on, I got you," I say as she jumps on my back, and I give her a piggyback.

I walk slowly, knowing I could run, but too scared to do anything like that.

I feel like it'll hurt her somehow.

And it's as we are sitting on a park bench, and she's just stolen my ice cream after distracting me with a few kisses- it's easy for her to distract me with those lips of hers- that I realize why it bothered me so much.

It bothers me because that's exactly what would happen when Tina chased after me when I was a kid.

Mrs. Incart is happier looking.

That's not saying much.

That's like saying a broken arm is seemingly _less_ broken.

It's still broken.

She's still broken.

But I've also noticed her necklace is new.

So maybe her husband had bought her some kinda way of apologizing.

I wonder how she looked when she was actually happy, and not this kinda sad, fake happy that she pretends to be, the one who lies about her husband and their relationship when the other teachers question it, malice lacing their voices.

Does she only look happy in old photographs, old memories?

Was she ever really _that_ happy?

I would hope so.

Because right now all she does is give us those smiles that my mum gave after dad left, fake and sad, fond of older times.

I wish she would take off her wedding ring, and I wish she would stop forgiving him, and I wish she would give me a smile, a real one sometime.

But she won't because she probably feels as though she can't.

And in the end I know I will learn absolutely nothing about science, but I will learn far too much about Mrs. Incart, and how it looks to be stuck and sad and broken and messy.

But I push that thought out of my mind.

And instead I think back to Emily.

And are you really that surprised?

Are you really surprised to find that she is consuming my thoughts?

March has just begun and I can hear the rain slapping against the roof.

I think about that time Emily and I were just sat in a park sharing headphones, and all I wanted to do was hold her for all of eternity.

I think I just want to be with her for eternity.

I want my life to be with her.

And yes, I know I've mentioned it god knows how many times, but I really do mean it when I say that I _will_ marry her.

I will.

That is a promise.

The doctor tells us that she should think about moving into the hospital.

He says with a face of stone, serious and obviously used to saying these things, but the way he casts his eyes down makes me think it still pains him every time.

It hurts him to say that she is not getting better.

No, she is not improving.

Those pills and the chemo are not working like he thought they would.

Nothing is like they thought it would be.

Emily cries into my shoulder again, and once again it feels as though I've been stabbed and like I'm helpless, watching a storm happen, ruining houses and lived and leaving wreckage in their wake,

I hold her to my shaking body, tears streaming down my own face.

And my mind is repeating the same things over and over.

She is not getting better.

She is not getting better.

I need her.

I need her.

I love her.

I love her.

Her mum is quiet when we drive back to her house, and Emily is asleep into my shoulder, cried out for the moment, and I know another burst of tears will come soon, and I know that I will be there to hold her when it happens, because I will always be there to hold her.

"Naomi."

My head snaps up to meet her mother's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Yes Mrs. Fitch?"

"We need to talk about Emily."

I swallow heavily. Why do we need to tall about her?

"She's very sick."

That's why we need to talk about her.

"I know," I say, and that's all I say because that's all I can say. That's all there is to say.

"I just need you to… well, just think about what happens now."

What happens now?

She gets better.

She has to.

I can't fathom any other way of life.

Because it just can't be like that.

And so we don't discuss it for the rest of the ride, and maybe we should have, and maybe we shouldn't have, but we didn't, and instead I held her in my arms as she leaned further into me, and I smelled her sweet smell.

Yes, I am aware how creepy that sounds.

I swear, it's not creepy like that.

I just like how she smells.

Well, that does sound strange.

Maybe there isn't a way to write that that isn't strange. I think that's because love is strange.

It really is.

Because it makes you feel all kinds of funny, and it makes you smile when you see them, and it makes your stomach become a habitat to butterflies, and your heart starts thumping like it's part of some fast paced dance song at some gross club.

It's like some drug, and yes, I am aware that that is overused.

Sorry, but it's true.

So I'm smelling her hair, which I would have found to be creepy and stalkerish, like someone going through your trash.

But now I find it to be normal in this case.

When we arrive at her home, I nudge her softly, her mascara stained face starting to twitch awake, eyes reluctantly opening.

And it's so beautiful and adorable and I peck her lips with a chaste kiss, taking note of her mother in the front seat, remembering my great escape from Rob Fitch just a few days ago, and how I would rather not have a repeat if given a chance.

Although, I am glad I did run, because I have a feeling that Mr. Fitch would have been none too pleased to find me between his daughter's legs.

I could just ask Scotty Renold.

I know I mention him a lot, but really, you should have seen him. If there was ever a way to permanently remind me of the dangers of being caught doing anything of that sort with Emily, it would him.

I mean, Jesus, it was bad.

But like I was saying.

I plant a gentle kiss on her lips, and she slowly wakes up more and more, and I think to myself that kissing her feels like it did when she wasn't this ill.

Holding her hand doesn't feel different, except that her hand is a tad bit thinner now.

Making love to her isn't any different.

Being with her isn't different.

But, it feels like it should be.

The sky should never look beautiful, and all my days should be awful, but they aren't.

And it feels strange.

It really feels odd to think that all the people at school carry on with their lives like this awful thing isn't happening.

I mean, Emily Fitch has cancer, and it seems like no one cares, besides the ones she knows.

The girl who sits next to her in math, and the little boy who lives on her block.

Everyone should feel awful and sad, and life shouldn't be the same when this awful thing is happening.

It just doesn't make sense that this doesn't drastically affect everyone else's life.

Because it should.

Emily is one of my favorite people in this world, and she's one of the most important people too, and what, the boy who sits ahead of me in science can still sleep during class, and the girl who spends most of her time looking in the mirror in her locker doesn't change her routine?

Everything should change.

It just should.

Everyone should be worried about this, and everyone should care, like actually care, not pretend to when everyone else does, just so you don't seem heartless.

I help Emily up the stairs and peel back the covers, listening to the way the rain still comes down forcefully and painfully.

She climbs in and I crawl in after her, making sure my clothes are visible for Mr. Fitch's sake and mine.

I kiss a spot on the back of her head where there used to be more of this beautiful vibrant red.

She mumbles something appreciative, and "I love you."

And despite hearing it for the millionth time it still makes me smile, thinking that a girl like this could love me, that she does love me.

Most words lose their meaning when you say them enough, apologies and other things becoming hollow words, but like I said, love is strange, and it never loses its meaning when she says it to me.

It still feels amazing, and like I've accomplished some incredible feat, like that day when I was nine and I made her laugh for the first time, and I realized that I never wanted to stop doing that, even if I didn't realize that I liked her back then.

So I feel like some kinda superhero, the ones you read in old crinkled comics, found in the back of someone's drawers, scrunched up and read multiple times, age prominent on it.

But I feel like I can do anything, like I have some kinda power made from Emily's love.

I can fly, and I can fight crime, and I can climb the tallest tree in existence because I have her love, and I feel like I can do anything.

Too cheesy?

It's true though.

I kiss her head one last time, draping my jacket around her, before I fall asleep.

"I love you too."

 **So?**

 **Not very good I know.**

 **I hope you don't think this is my attempt at fishing for compliments, I really do think it's not very good. But thank you for constantly reassuring me, I know it's probably very annoying to you, but really it means a lot that you guys are reading this and are so kind.**

 **Next chapter will be up either Saturday or Sunday, probably Sunday.**

 **Sorry that I make you guys wait a week, maybe I'll be able to write more this week and weekend so you guys will get the chapters faster.**

 **Anyways, let me know what you thought!**


	18. Chapter 18

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hello! Hey, what's up?**

 **How are you? How's life been treating you?**

 **So, I guess Sunday had kind of become my unofficial update date. Is that too much of a wait? I'm sorry if it is, but life is just kinda hectic.**

 **Once again, I want to thank everyone. Really thank you so much. I know I say it every time, but it's hard to express how truly thankful I am to each and every one of you.**

 **Thank you mynameislizzie for giving me a shout out. She just finished an amazing story, and she's almost done with another. I hope that this makes her feel a bit better, because I know she's been getting a bit of shit from some reviews.**

 **Anyways, I really hope you guys enjoy!**

 **Chapter 18:**

I'm trying to figure out how I feel about Fitch family dinners.

On one hand, they're nice and loving, and I get to hear stories about Emily and Katie when they were young, and I get to watch the way their family interacts.

It's usually something like this:

"And today at the gym, this girl came in, and she was using the dumbbells and then this man came over, trying to impress her, and let me tell you, he struck out immediately. And I told him, I told him, "Aaron, if you want to impress a woman, you're gonna need to do some reps!"

"Is she hot?" –totally appropriate question from James.

"What?"

"Gordon Mcpherson said that girls like it when-"

"Naughty bar!"

And then he complained and went to go do pull-ups.

But like I was saying, I'm not entirely sure how I feel, because on the other hand, I have to keep my mind at bay, witch is a pretty difficult thing.

I mean, take right now, yes I am eating dinner with the Fitchs right now, for example.

I swear Emily likes to mess with me. Her hand is currently on my thigh, and is moving upwards slowly, and then sliding down, as I try to remain calm.

And Mr. Fitch is telling us some story about how he changed yet another person's life with fitness, and all I can think about what Emily and I were doing yesterday in her room.

She had been kissing my neck, my checks, my ears, my lips, everything, warming me up in comparison to the cold I had just been in when I was outside.

And I thought I would die right then and there I was so incredibly happy.

I mean, she was smiling, and laughing, and kissing me, and I was just warm, I felt so incredibly warm.

And so it's hard to avoid thinking about that when Mr. Fitch is rambling about something else.

"You see fitness is important. And then I told him…."

 _Reporting live from Naomi's mind._

 _We have movement, we have movement, I repeat, we have movement! Emily's hand is brushing higher and higher. We believe that her hand is heading to a place where it most definitely shouldn't be when her father and rest of her family are here._

 _We will keep you posted folks. If it brushes any higher, Naomi might react, and that would mean a dead Naomi._

"Naomi?" Mr. Fitch is tilting is head ever so slightly.

"Oh, um, uh, uhhh…. I'm sorry, I was just uh, well, uh distracted," I say, swallowing and reaching quickly for my glass of water, thinking that he won't ask me anymore questions if I'm drinking.

 _This just in, Emily's hand has moved higher! This raises the question: Does she want Naomi to be beaten to a miserable pulp by her very large and intense father? Signs point to yes._

I choke on my water and begin to cough, raising my hand to my mouth as Emily laughs silently beside me.

Bitch.

So, do you get what I mean? It's hard for me to resist looking away when Mr. Fitch looks right at me, it's like he's trying to read and see if I've messed up in anyway.

I'm half expecting him to stop in the middle of one of his stories and make Emily recite some kinda virginity chant.

Is that a thing?

I imagine Mr. Fitch probably made it a thing.

But you can imagine how nervous I am every single time. I mean, sometimes I'm almost glad her little brother perves on me. That way he gets in trouble, and it creates a very useful distraction to my inner panicking.

It's like all the fucking haunted houses and scary movies in the world combined to think about what would happen if Mr. Fitch ever found out. I know that it may not seem like a big deal since Mr. Fitch is a very kind man, but let me explain, because I don't think I'm accurately portraying him.

He would scare the hulk he's so big and strong. I mean, sometimes I think those two might be related. And while he was a very kind and loving man, he was very, and when I say very, I mean _very_ protective of his daughters.

And so I was absolutely terrified of him. And no, I will never call him _Rob_ , because I feel like that's just some fucking trap he's set for me.

Well, no way _Mr. Fitch,_ you won't get me.

Emily decides to stop messing with my thigh and… other regions, and laces her fingers through mine, like so many times before.

And it feels like things just connect.

I just read that back and realized how corny that is, but I promise you that I mean it.

And there's something truly puzzling about how truly lucky I am, because I had never thought that love could be this way.

I had never really grown up with an idea of how love looks, and I know that love doesn't have one set image, but rather an infinite amount of possibilities, but I had never really seen too many relationships where there were love. I had seen my parents' relationship, and I had seen the love that used to be in their eyes, but I saw that decay, vanish and turn into resentment and then emptiness. And those images of their love leave me slowly, and I forget how it looked when they loved each other.

It's funny how that works, how we lose images of our past selves, and we forget the way things looked and sounded, things that used to be so clear are now blurry and unclear.

I had seen relationships, but sometimes I wondered if that love was real. Neighbors with sad eyes, and secrets of resentment in what should have been a loving relationship.

So I never really thought about love. I didn't really think it was real. I thought it was like some mystical creature, and I didn't really think it was important.

In my mind, I had a feeling I would get married to some woman, and we'd love each other, but it wouldn't be anything earthshattering, rather a love that was just kinda there. And we would have kids, and we would be overworked and sad, because in my mind, that was just how people were.

Sad.

But then Emily comes along, and she shows me that I was wrong. And our love _is_ this earthshattering thing. And I know, I know I sound crazy. I sound like a love sick teenager, but I mean it. I really do. Because now I know what love is. What it really is.

And _this,_ this means everything to me.

Sorry, I got kind of sidetracked.

But really, it's hard not to.

Mr. Dirken is already looking angry. I wonder what happens to him at home to make him so angry before class even starts.

Maybe he's mad at his wife for something stupid, or maybe he's mad because his kids never call him anymore, or maybe he's mad because he has no wife to get mad at, and no kids to call constantly.

Maybe he's sad.

Maybe he and Mrs. Incart should date.

Or maybe he's just an asshole who likes to spend his time terrorizing the youth of today with endless questions and aggravated stares.

I start to doodle in my notebook, and soon enough it turns into a picture of Emily, her features coming together just like how I remember them from my endless staring.

Hair sweeping down past her shoulders, thinner than before, but still beautiful. Her beaming smile, her-

"Ms. Campbell. Since you feel so confident that you know what I'm teaching, that you feel inclined to draw, please tell me what I just said," Mr. Dirken said, hand brushing over his receding hairline, as if more hair would grow if he just touched it enough.

It wouldn't.

"Uh… no, I can't."

"Exactly! And this is why you need to be paying attention! This is important!"

He makes it sound as if I will be given a life or death question about correct writing techniques.

Maybe he'll be the one to give me that question.

Maybe he's an evil villain.

Maybe he had a hairless cat that he just strokes evilly and laughs.

Maybe he has evil plans.

Maybe. Maybe…

Maybe he's just a sad man.

The last of March weather is gloomy and dismal. Things are happening. Emily and I have both been accepted into a few colleges, as have Cook and Katie, who, I will add, are loved up and cheesy.

And Emily isn't getting any better.

And I know that she should be.

Look, I'm no genius when it comes to these things, but I do know some things.

I know those pills should be helping.

They're not.

I know the chemo should be helping.

It isn't.

And I know that an 18-year-old girl shouldn't cough so much.

But she is.

And I know that there is something wrong.

I know that there is something wrong because she asks me to stop making jokes sometimes because it hurts too much to laugh. And I know something is wrong because he fingers are frailer than before when I hold her hand.

And I know something is wrong because she is sick, and she has never acted sick before, but now I know what I could easily forget before.

She is sick.

And it's a constant reminder.

I'm reminded when she takes more and more concoctions of pills, all trying to desperately have some kind of effect.

I'm reminded when a bit of a cough turns into one giant coughing fit, loud and scary, and leaving my heart clenching with absolute fear of what is happening to her.

What is happening slowly before my own eyes.

And so I try to forget about it, but like I said, I can't, I can't forget it.

And it hurts me more than anything else to see the person I love so incredibly to be hurting and sick.

It hurts more than I ever imagined it would.

And so here we are, at the hospital again, and I'm already wishing we weren't there.

Once again the doctor is there, and he pushes back a head of graying hair, and he takes off his glasses dramatically, and I feel like we're in some lame ass soap opera.

Is this the part where the dramatic music plays?

"So, the cancer isn't going away. We thought the pills would help, and we thought that the chemo would help. They are… but it's not having the desired affect. It's moving a lot slower than we anticipated it would."

I can't breathe.

I can't breathe.

I can't breathe.

It feels like my lungs are collapsing, begging to breathe as my chest tightens.

I can't breathe.

I can't breathe.

I can't breathe.

Everything is burning, hurting painfully.

I see white, and I feel tears on my shoulder and I hear loud, desperate sobs coming from Mrs. Fitch and Emily, and my cheeks are wet, and that's when I realize that I'm crying loudly and recklessly, tears flowing easily from my eyes.

"We think Emily should start staying in the hospital soon."

And I'm motionless.

I'm motionless as we walk out the hospital, and I can feel my tears on my cheeks.

I'm motionless as we are driving, and Emily sobs into my shoulder.

My brain is frozen, and it feels like I'm not present, like this isn't me, like I'm watching this happen to me, and it doesn't feel like I'm in my own body.

Does that make sense?

And now I find myself sitting on Emily's bed, and I'm just looking up at the ceiling as she sobs into me, and all I can think about is why.

Why is this happening?

Why must the girl whom I love more than life itself be sick?

But then again, why is anyone sick?

Why does anyone go through terrible things?

I'm not special, I'm no exception to this rule, and no matter how special Emily is, she's no exception either.

Emily's sobs grow quieter and quieter as I hold her in my arms, and I can hear Mr. Fitch's voice trying to comfort Mrs. Fitch downstairs.

And then I hear a knock on the door, and I see them standing together, and I'm crying a little bit more, but I realize I'm wrapped up in Emily, but I can't even find it in me to be scared at the prospect of Mr. Fitch seeing up like this, because I'm too scared of something much worse.

"Can I talk to you Naomi?" He asks in a deep, but gentle voice.

I nod silently, as Mrs. Fitch walks into Emily's room and sits on the chair I sat on all those months ago.

I follow him downstairs into the living room, and I take a seat on the couch, and I'm surprised when he sits next to me.

"There's no easy way to say this…" he starts.

There's never an easy way to say it, is there? How do you say it? How do you say something that I already know?

How do you say that one of the most important people in your world is sick, and isn't getting any better?

I wish I had the answer, and from the look he's giving me, he's wishing he had it too.

"Emily is very sick."

That's how you say it.

"I know," I say, and I swallow my desperate sobs, begging to be released.

"I'm not saying that she won't get better, but I'm just telling you, things right now are dark…"

And my heart hurts.

It hurts so much more than I thought it would ever hurt.

It's like everything happening at once.

"I know."

And this time the sobs aren't swallowed because I can't keep them down, and instead I cry, tears following, wetting my own shirt.

And he hugs me.

He wraps me up in a hug, strong arms around me, and in all the times I could have used my own father, I think this is the moment when I need him most.

I need him to hold me while I cry, and I need him to whisper all those father like things, gentle murmurs and whisperings.

But he's not here.

And that's how we're different.

Because I stay even thought I'm in pain, because I love Emily so much, that it doesn't matter that it's hard.

Mr. Fitch takes the father role instead, and I try to be civil, but instead I bury my head into his shoulder, and I sob.

I cry for the girl upstairs who is…

Who is…

Who is _dying._

The one who is sick.

I cry because I need her to be okay, because I need her to be okay, because I need her to be okay.

And she is not okay.

And so I sob, endlessly and for what feels like an eternity.

Cook and I are sitting on his couch again, and we're watching The Room, and if you haven't seen it, then I definitely recommend it, and he's been listening to me ramble on about everything.

About college.

About mum.

About homework.

About Emily.

And when take a small pause, he starts to talk, and here's the thing about Cook that many people will never understand.

He may be one of the stupidest people you will ever meet. He's full of bad ideas that often lead to running away from some large looking guy.

But he's also one of the wisest at times.

Don't tell him I said that.

But we were sitting on his couch, and after I had started to tear up a bit, he turned to me, and he said, "I know that things seem shit, but you love her yeah? Things are shit, but they will be better, because you love her, and that's all that really matters."

And for a second I thought, "He's the smartest man I'll ever know."

This lasted for five seconds until he said, "Hey d'you think it's based on a true story?"

And then I thought, "This genius is an idiot."

But I felt a bit better than I had before, and so I put my head on his shoulder as he took another sip of his beer, and we started to laugh at the acting.

"It won't be that bad," I say, while Emily lays her head on her chest, listening to the beating of my heart.

"I don't want to move into the hospital, Naoms," she says as I bring my hand up to her hair, gently pushing loose strands behind her ear.

"It won't be that bad," I repeat.

She doesn't seem to be buying it.

"Naoms, I want to live here, in my room, in my home, like I always have before."

"But that was before you were sick, Ems," I say gently, and place a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"Nomi, I want to stay here."

"Look, we're make your hospital room awesome. We're hang up a bunch of posters and we're take some of your photos with us, and we're take your favorite books, and we can watch movies, and I'll sneak you in some good food…." I list off.

"What like this one?" She asks, pointing to a black and white strip of photos from an old photo booth we saw when we were in some nameless bookstore one day.

"Yeah, it'll be fine, Ems."

"And what will I do when you're at school?"

"Well, you're still be learning things. I did some research. You'll have classes and stuff here, and I'll bring you you're homework, and I'll visit you everyday. We can do everything we still do now."

"Not exactly…" she leads off, looking at me, like she's trying to see if I will get the hint.

I am not getting the hint.

"Naoms… what's something that we can't do in a hospital?"

I have no idea what she means.

"Naoms…" she drags out my name again.

Oh, oh… oh!

"Oh, you mean, the… you mean… yeah…"

She means, you know…

Sex.

"Yeah, I guess we can't exactly do that in a hospital..."

But it doesn't matter to me.

It really doesn't. While sex with Emily is great, it doesn't mean everything to me.

Holding her in my arms is sometimes even better, to be honest.

And so that's what I do now, I engulf her in my arms and she sighs, leaning back into me, seemingly at ease.

I found two more movies, giving me a total of 12 out of 15.

I found A New King and Passion in Paradise in some small obscure movie store that I drove to with Cook and Paddy.

I have found all the movies except for Eying the Stranger, Lighting the Sky, and Emily's favorite, Night of Love.

And I can't wait to see the look of utter happiness on her face when she sees them.

It'll make all the months of searching worth it.

"Hey, this isn't so bad," I say as I carry a box into Emily's new hospital room.

April has just begun and the unrelenting rain won't go away.

It's constant and cold, and I find myself having to tug my jacket closer to me when I do wear it. I find that a lot of the time it ends up on Emily.

Mr. Fitch comes into the room behind me, holding another box of Emily's books.

Katie and Cook are there too, as is Mrs. Fitch and James.

"See Emsy, not so bad," Katie lisps out, her mouth forming a small smile as Cook squeezes her hand in support.

"Can I come visit you often?" James says from beside his mum.

Well isn't that sweet?

"I saw a nurse with mint tints!"

Well… it _was_ kinda sweet before he continued to talk.

He was better off just leaving it.

Katie clips the back of his head.

"Ow, bitch!" He rubs the back of his head.

"James! Don't use that kind of language!" Mrs. Fitch looks appalled.

"She hit me!"

"Katie, don't hit your brother!" Mr. Fitch says, putting the box on one of the chairs.

"He said the nurse had 'mint tints'!"

"James, don't say that the nurse has 'mint tints'!" Mr. Fitch says.

"It's her fault!" He says, still rubbing the back of his head.

"No!" Katie says, as Cook looks absolutely terrified at his very angry girlfriend.

And they start to yell, and Cook steps back next to Emily and I as Mr. and Mrs. Fitch try to stop the yelling by yelling louder.

"Oh god," Emily says, grabbing my arm and trying to hide behind me.

It's later when everyone is still here, and after we have all eaten dinner in her room, that they start to leave.

Katie says she'll stay, but Emily says something about Katie missing out on her beauty sleep, and she seems reluctant, but she leaves, as do her parents and brother, all of them kind of reluctant, and making me promise to keep them updated.

Cook leaves with a hug and a kiss on my cheek, and Mr. Fitch tells me to take care of his daughter, and Mrs. Fitch hugs me.

It's a later when we're in her bed, and we're watching The Princess Bride, yes, we are watching The Princess Bride again, sharing our earphones, that we start to nod off a bit.

The sky is dark and all the people in all the houses all probably asleep, and so I take her computer and put it to the side, and she takes off my jacket, and she cuddles into me.

It's so quiet and I think that she's asleep but then I hear her voice in gentle whispers.

"Naoms…"

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared."

And I hold her a bit tighter.

"I won't let anything happen to you, Ems," I say, and I mean it.

"Really?"

"Really."

She puts her head on my chest.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you too."

I'm smiling because no matter how many times I hear it, I always find myself smiling like an idiot.

"Promise me you'll stay?" She says, but she says it like she already knows that my answer will be yes, and she's right.

"No one can make me leave. I promise you I'll stay forever, Ems."

"Forever," she says in a small childlike voice.

"Forever and ever."

She kisses the spot a little above my heart, and soon enough I hear her soft snores.

And as I drift off, I think of one thing.

I would never leave Emily Fitch. Not for the world.

I love her.

 **And that was it! A little bit longer than last time.**

 **So I will be starting Chapter 19 tomorrow, and that will be up on Sunday! I know, what a shock!**

 **So what are you guys going as for Halloween? Are you guys as excited as I am?**

 **Let me know what you guys thought!**


	19. Chapter 19

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hello! Okay, so, this is a shorter chapter, and it's also kinda shit so I apologize. I'm sorry.**

 **I hope you guys all had a good Halloween. What did you guys go as? What did you guys do?**

 **Once again, I want to thank you, because you guys will never know how lucky I am and how much I appreciate you guys.**

 **Okay, should we go on? Let's do it!**

 **Chapter 19:**

It has been two weeks since Emily has checked into the hospital, April's rain making its appearance.

In some ways, things are different, and in others, things are the exact same.

It's the same because Emily and I still watch movies and we kiss, and we talk about all the things we always did, and we're happy.

And it's different because I don't walk her to class anymore, and I don't see her bright red door, the color faded and worn.

I don't sit under the old tree anymore while she puts her head on my shoulder, and we watch everything happen around us, so wrapped up in each other.

I don't take her to go get ice cream at that convenience store a few blocks down with the grumpy man and the forgotten freezer in the back,

And it's hard sometimes, and I hope you know what I mean when I say that. I don't mean that my life is empty, and I trail around with constant tears in my eyes, saying something about how Emily and I used to go bowling here, or how we one time saw a movie here.

I mean that it's hard to watch everyone else. Everyone else doesn't have to worry about these things, and that bothers me immensely. Couples still do all the things they always did because there's no reason why they wouldn't.

They don't go see their loved one in a hospital, and they don't have to see her get thinner and thinner, and paler and paler, and they don't have to worry about making her laugh too hard because then a nurse might have to come.

And I know I'm not the only one. I know there are people all around the world going through these things. But it feels like I'm the only one, and like no one notices.

No one notices how awful it is. No one sees the tragedy happening. We should all be crying and there should be a line to visit Emily. Why doesn't everyone feel the way I do? How is that possible that they don't feel like that?

And I want to strangle the doctors. Because they fucking lied to me.

Emily isn't getting better.

She still pulls out pieces of red hair, and she still coughs, and she's frail, and she's ill, she's ill and I can't do anything to fix it, and it feels like I'm useless.

I feel like I'm just watching it all go to shit right in front of me, and it's so goddamn unfair.

Why does a romance like Gary Simps and Amanda Horite's- yes, Amanda fucking Horite- get to be totally fucking okay?

That probably sounds mean, but think about it.

Gary Simps doesn't exactly care for his girlfriend, spending more time bragging to his friends about their latest escapade in bed rather than actually spending time _with_ her. And Amanda Horite spends most of the time bragging about their dates rather than him.

It seems odd to me, that two people can care so little about each other, and yet, they aren't put through any of the shit Emily and I now have to go through, and yes, I know that sounds bitter.

And it makes me mad, it makes me so mad.

It makes me mad that all of this is happening, and it makes me mad that I have no control over it.

And so here I am, in Emily's room as she's sleeping peacefully in the bed.

It's Saturday, and I've decided to make a fort.

And no, not just any fort, I'm talking about Mega, Mighty, Super Fort.

"What's that?" You may ask.

Well, it's a badass fort, no it's _the_ badass fort. And why am I making it?

I'm making it because Emily has sat in her bed, watching the walls, and crying into me today, before she fell asleep in my arms, and I need to see her laugh.

And so I ask the nurse for blankets and chairs, and get an odd look in return, but she brings the stuff anyways.

And I go to work.

Blankets and pillows and chairs, and I'm setting it all up into a cluster fuck fort that looks kinda cool and kinda shit.

And just as I finish, as I hang the last blanket from the last chair and put the last pillow in the last perfect place, Emily stirs in her sleep and wakes up, sitting up slowly, and rubbing her eyes, and the sight it so adorable that it distracts me from the chaos happening behind me.

The minute I take my eyes off the fort, the chair falls, and so the blankets collapse too, and the pillows are moved, and another chair falls, and then it's just one big mess of a broken fort.

I'm standing in it all, and I feel like how I've been feeling recently.

Useless.

Because I tried to make her laugh and look at me now, standing in this mess I've made, trying desperately to put the chairs back and the pillows where they were and hang the blankets once again, but it's not working, and I'm becoming more and more worked up because it's like I can't do anything.

And then her laughter rings out.

It's melodious and soft, and this time she doesn't cough, and I just bask in it, like I did for the first time all those years ago, and I turn to her.

She's smiling a great big beautiful smile, and her eyes are crinkled, and for a moment she doesn't look sick. She looks like how she did before, perfectly fine and healthy, and it feels like it was all some dream, or really a nightmare.

No, Emily is fine.

And that was all some nightmare.

But then I realize I'm in the hospital, and Emily's starting to cough a bit, and no, this isn't some nightmare, this is life.

This is reality.

This is our reality.

I rush to grab some water and she slowly takes small sips, and eventually the coughing stops, but she looked so small lying there.

And so I moved forward and held her in my arms.

She felt cold.

She felt very cold.

A person should not feel that cold.

And I cried.

I cried a bit into her shoulder as I wrapped my arms around her waist, she sitting in my lap, and I cried.

I cried so hard I thought a nurse would have to come for me, and I thought that I would be sick, I cried so hard that I wondered if I would ever stop.

I cried because I was scared and I felt helpless and I knew in that very moment that I was watching her die slowly, and I really knew this time.

I really knew that it was bad, more than I had ever realized before.

And I cried because I had no idea how I could stop it.

But I also knew that it had to get better, because there isn't a world without Emily, at least there isn't one that I want to live in.

Life without her wouldn't really be life, but some hollow meaningless thing in which I wandered around, in a way dazed and just kinda there.

And so I held her even closer, like that alone would keep her safe, like it would protect her from illness.

It doesn't.

It was Tuesday. The sky was shining beautifully. The rain had gone away for the day.

And I hated it.

It felt so out of place for the sun to be shining.

It felt so odd for everything to look beautiful, because really, everything should be sad and it wasn't.

That was one of the worst parts.

My grades were great, and Cook and I still were having a lot of fun, and Paddy was gonna live with Mum next year, and Katie had been infinitely kinder since she started dating Cook, and life was good in all those parts.

Everything could have been great, but the most important piece of it wasn't.

No, she was sitting on her bed, hooked up to machines that beeped and flashed, and she coughs as the doctors try to find a cure.

"Naomi," my politics teacher calls as I'm leaving class.

I'm not sure if I've ever described her, but I'll do that now.

She was a short woman, and she was calm, maybe my only sane teacher.

Her brown hair was cut short, falling just to her shoulders, and her smile was bright and her voice was kinda unpleasantly scratchy.

"Yes, Ms. Welps?"

"I, like the other teachers at this school, are aware about Emily's condition."

I took a sharp inhale of breath.

"And we are aware of how grim things are, with-"

"Just the person I was looking for." Mr. Dirken walks in, face serious and displeased.

"I was just in the middle of talking to Miss Campbell here about her girlfriend."

"Ah, yes, Miss Fitch. I'm sorry Naomi," he said.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Hold the fucking phone.

Why is he apologizing? Does he know something I don't?

Stop acting like she's dead, stop acting like she's gone.

I wish they'd stop acting that way.

People look at me with pity because I'm dating a sick girl.

They should be looking with amazement because I've managed to get a girlfriend as amazing as Emily.

"Yes, yes, Naomi, we wanted to say we're sorry about your girlfriend."

"She's not dead," I say shortly, because I'm beginning to get mad.

"Yes, but she's not exactly healthy, is she?" Mr. Dirken says, like he's telling me something I don't know.

"In all do respect, shut the fuck up about my girlfriend," I snap. And I know it was wrong. I know I shouldn't have done it. And I know I'll probably get in trouble for it, but I can't help it.

Because I am sick and tired of the sorry looks and the whispers in the hall about my girlfriend.

And then I walk into the hall, leaving my shocked teachers in the room, watching me leave.

And that's when I snap.

That is when I actually snap.

Because there hanging in the hallway, is a banner hanging:

"Our condolences about Emily Fitch."

 _Condolences?_

Let me look up that definition.

 _con·do·lence_

 _kənˈdōləns/_

 _noun_

 _plural noun:_ _ **condolences**_

 _an expression of sympathy, especially on the occasion of a death."we offer our sincere condolences to his widow"_

Death.

They are apologizing for her death.

They are apologizing for her death.

They think she's gonna die.

I watch Katie's face twist into one of anger from across the hall, as Cook looks up in disgust- yes, this is so awful, that is has Cook disgusted, the guy who describes his sexual conquests in great detail.

I watch as Patricia Farvier and Amanda Horite look at their work with pride, like they have done me a favor.

"Naomi! How do you like it?" Amanda asks, as I huff and puff like that fucking wolf from the three little pigs.

I'm getting more and more upset as I continue to look at it.

And so as the whole lot of kids watches, I snap.

Do you remember that scene in Pretty in Pink? Have you watched Pretty in Pink?

Well, there's this one scene where Duckie, one of the main characters, runs and jumps and pulls the prom poster down, throwing it somewhere.

And so, standing there, looking at this great big fucking death notice for my alive girlfriend, I run.

I run right to where it hangs in the hall, and I jump, I jump and I rip it down, plucking it down aggressively as the whole hallway watches on.

I crumple it into a ball angrily, ripping it and throwing it until everyone has realized my exact standing on this fucking banner.

And in case you are wondering:

 _I fucking despise it._

And then I keep running, I run right out of the doors to the school and down the steps to the tree across the field where Emily used to sit with me.

And I sit under the tree, and I watch all the world happening around me, and I can't help but think how much better it was when Emily was here.

"Got any fives?"

"Go fish!"

"You cheeky fucker, you have one don't you?"

"No I don't, go fish you grumpy shit."

"Love you too," I say, picking up another one to my growing pile.

It's after school of the whole banner ripping/crushing the "hard work" of Patricia Farvier and Amanda Horite, and I'm sat facing Emily, playing go fish on her bed.

"You like this game too much," I say, sighing as I look at my fucking ginormous pile.

"Just a bit. Now shut up and kiss me," Emily says smiling as I lean forward and meet her lips.

"Okay, I've decided I'll forgive you."

"Forgive me?"

"Yeah, for being a cheeky fucker."

She throws her pillow at me.

"Ooooh Ems, feisty! I didn't know you liked to play rough!"

"Naoms!" She chastises, her blushing face a beautiful sight.

"What?"

"You know what!"

"Why don't you explain it to me in great detail?"

I kiss her again, kissing her jaw softly.

"Nomi…" she whispers.

I kiss her again, and I lose myself in her. It's a combination of red and of love, and everything is here, everything is rather fucking amazing as I lose once again in Emily.

"Emsy!" I hear a deep voice say, and I sit up quickly, watching as Mr. Fitch walks in, and I try to pretend that I haven't just been making out with his daughter.

Me? No! How could you even think that I would do such a thing?!

I mean, I was, but….

He walks into the room, and I already prepare myself. I think I read how to survive a bear attack once. This can't be that much worse than that, right?

"Naomi, hope you guys are keeping your hands to yourselves," he says, laughing, but with an edge. I look at my hand that's holding hers and pry it away, putting both of mine in my lap.

"No touching Emily of course! No touching of any kind! I mean, not like that!" I squeaked and decided to never talk again.

He raised an eyebrow at me, but doesn't say anything.

Thank fuck for that.

"Well, I just wanted to see my little girl. I brought you some pudding love!" Mr. Fitch says, proudly holding out a cup of pudding, while I'm just looking at him, wondering where the fuck he just magically pulled pudding out of.

I mean, it just fucking appeared.

That would be the coolest magic trick ever.

Being able to just pull pudding out whenever you wanted it.

Sorry, sorry, I lost track, I got off topic.

We spend the day with Mr. Fitch, and his pudding, and it's nice.

It's nice to see him break into a booming laugh, and to see Emily with this man who means the world to her.

And it's nice because it feels like everything is okay, and like everything will be okay.

And so it's later that night, when I'm laying in bed with her, and I'm getting ready to leave in a little bit, that I remember what happened today.

"I ripped down Amanda Horite and Patricia Farvier's banner in the hallway today," I say into the darkness as her grip tightens around me and she laughs softly.

"Why?"

"Because they were giving condolences about you."

"Oh."

It's quiet, and kinda sad, and just kinda there, like she's not sure what to say, because what do you say when people think you're dying.

What do you day when you are?

"And so I ripped it down. And I told my teachers to fuck off too when they did the same," I said.

She's quiet.

"And I'm sick of them acting like you're dead Emily."

"I'm dying, Naoms."

It's even quieter, and it's the most heartbreaking thing I have ever heard.

And it's worse than I had ever thought that it might have been.

"You're not."

"I am."

"No, you're not."

"I am."

"Stop saying that," I choke out.

"I'm sorry." She wraps herself around me even tighter.

"You're gonna get better Ems, and we'll get married, and we'll have kids, and I'll buy a house for us, and the kids will run around out back, and we'll have a dog, and we'll gonna grow od together, goddamnit, we'll live to be 100, and I'll die before you do, and you're be so fucking healthy, and-"

I've worked myself into a crying fit and Emily kisses me, she kisses me and we lie back down in the darkness, onto her bed, and we're wrapped up in each other again.

It's quiet and it's warm under the blankets, and it's raining outside, even thought it was sunnier earlier, and I'm not sure how that works.

But it's happening, and we're kissing, and eventually we stop, and everything is calm as I place one last soft kiss on her lips.

"I love you Naomi Campbell."

The rain falls, against the roof hard, and everyone is sleeping, and it's like all those nights ago in the first hospital stay.

"I love you too."

 **Alright.**

 **So there you have it. I hope you guys liked it, I know it's kinda shit.**

 **The next chapter will be up on Sunday.**

 **Let me know what you thought! Should there be an Emily Pov soon?**


	20. Chapter 20

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Sorry about posting this a little late. I finished this earlier but I lost track of time. Once again, this is a very short chapter, and it's not very good.**

 **I hope you guys had a good weekend. Thank you so much for everything.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 20: Emily**

"We're busting you out of here."

It started with an idea, or really an inkling of an idea.

Now, at this point, you probably are very confused about what it is I'm talking about, and that's okay, but let me explain.

I sit watching the walls.

Okay, _now_ let me explain _that._

Sitting in a hospital all day is not fun. 

In fact, it's quite the opposite.

Sure, there are things to do, and I still have some kind of education, in which a woman comes in and teaches me what I'd be learning in school so I do not fall behind, but it's not fun.

You lose some kind of feeling of freedom being cooped up in a hospital all day, and it's hard. Sometimes I barely feel like I'm alive with all the shit happening to my body, so spending my young life sitting in a bed in a hospital only makes me feel even _less_ like I'm living, despite the fact that here I am, breathing and all that jazz.

It's hard, I mean that. I spend my days waiting for Naomi to come over and that's when I'm happiest. That's when I'm not the sick girl, and I'm not one of the patients in the cancer ward of the hospital, but I'm Emily. And that's who I've always been, but at times, it feels as though I've been stripped of that.

No, no, no, no more Emily, but rather the hollow shell of a sick girl, sitting in a bed, living out her life in misery until her girlfriend comes and rescues her for a few blissful hours in which I actually feel happy.

And it's hard because I can see exactly what it's doing to the people around me, and I know you would never really expect a sick person to feel bad for what _they're_ doing to others, but I do.

Mum cries, and Dad hides behind a large smile that he plasters on for my sick, and Katie acts all tough, like she'll scare my cancer away, and James just watches, not really sure what to do I guess.

And Naomi is Naomi, but she's scared, and she's too sure it'll go aware like the flu.

And I know I'm getting weaker.

I know I'm not getting better.

And no one except the doctors will say it.

But I'm not getting better, and I know I'm not.

And it's hard.

But back to the inkling of an idea that started one day early in April and has now become concrete in the early/mid days of April.

"We're busting you out of here."

And how could this go wrong?

Well, "busting" someone out of a hospital seems to be like something that could easily go very wrong, and will most likely never, ever, work, even in our wildest dreams.

So yes, that is how it could go wrong.

It also seems to very likely to be illegal, although so is drinking underage….

Anyways.

Here we were, and Naomi, Cook, and Katie were standing there dressed in black, looking like something out of a stupid movie with a robbery.

It was late, and the sky was black, and the kids all around were asleep.

And so maybe I should have protested, and said something and put an end to this awful idea, but really, how could I when it seemed so fun?

And so I got out of bed, and Naomi handed me the black beanie from all that time ago, and we tip toed out of there.

"Cook, distract the nurse at the desk," Naomi whispered as we got closer and closer to the door.

"On it, Naomio." He walked over and began to hold up his left hand.

"Pretty sure this pinkie is broken. Can you check it out?"

"Sir, this is not the place for that."

We started to walk by.

"This is a hospital right?"

"Yes, but this is not the right section."

We got closer and closer to the door.

"But is it broken?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, neither do I, and I think that may be a problem."

We opened the doors slowly, and out we went.

"You know what, it's not broken. Thanks. Bye."

Cook ran out, and we semi-walked/ran back to Naomi's mum's car.

Cook sat in the front seat and Katie sat down in the passenger, leaving Naomi and I in the back.

She reached out and grabbed my hand, bringing it carefully to her lips, and kissed my knuckles sweetly as I closed my eyes in one of those very calm and pleasant ways that only happens when you feel at ease.

Because that's what happens when I'm with her.

And the car started to move forward, and Cook started to laugh at something Katie had said, and it was all peaceful.

Because here next to me was the girl I loved, and there in front of me was the sister I loved, with the guy that she loved, and everything was okay, everything felt okay for the first time that day.

Cook stopped at some park, and I watched as he and Katie got out, carrying blankets in their arms.

"My lady," Naomi said, holding her hand out, and so I took it, and we walked out into the night, into the dark, and everything was so quiet as opposed to the daytime hospital noises, the beeping and the moving and the cries of parents who have suddenly aged 20 years, looking down at their children who will never grow up, who will never fall in love, and will never go to prom, and will never get married, and will never get that job they always wanted, and won't have that dog they begged for.

Because there is no will anymore, there is no future.

And I wonder how many of those things I will get to do.

Months ago I might have told you that I would do all of them, and I would do them with Naomi by my side, but now I'm not so sure how much of a future there will be for me, and I wonder if Naomi will age 20 years, or maybe she'll age 40, and will her soft blue eyes go hard? And will they ever go back to being soft if they do?

And will Katie cry about everything she had ever wanted to say? And will James say something pervy, because he doesn't know how to say what he wants to say? And will my mum lose her composure, and will dad stop acting like men don't cry, when I've seen him shed enough tears to drown us all?

I don't know.

Naomi pulls my hand, and I think more and more, more than I should, because sometimes it's hard not to think about all those things.

She sits down, and she pulls me into her into her lap.

Her face looks so young here in the moonlight, and her smile looks so bright, and her laughter rings out into the night. And will I get to see her face gain wrinkles? And will I hear her laugh when she's 70?

I really hope I do.

I kiss her softly, and I bring my hands up to her heart again.

"It's beating really fast Naoms, are you nervous?" I tease.

"Would you rather it stop beating?" She teases.

"Never."

The moment her heart stops beating, mine will too, I know it. Although it seems like mine will stop much sooner than hers ever will.

"Did I ever tell you about the stars?" She asks quietly after a moment, when we're lying down on one of the blankets, and Katie and Cook have inevitably gone off to shag somewhere.

"Your dad used to tell you about them."

"Yeah. Did I ever tell you about him?" She asks once more, quieter this time.

"Bits." I know that she doesn't like to talk about it, not even with Cook.

"Did I ever tell him about the time I destroyed his stuff?"

"No."

"I was 14, and I was sitting in my room doing something stupid no doubt, and then I started to think, and I wondered where he was, you know? What had ever happened to him. So I googled his name," she chokes out, and she's laughing, but not because there's anything funny.

"Oh Naoms," I say and wrap my arms around her.

"And there were all these pictures of him on Facebook. And he looked so happy, so fucking happy. And there he was, holding some little girl's hand, and there she was when she was a little bit older, and she was just so happy, and he was smiling. And then it hit me. It was his daughter. And that little girl, it wasn't me. It wasn't me."

And she's crying a bit, tears falling down her cheeks as she looks straight up at the sky.

"It wasn't me," she whispers again.

"And so I thought something was wrong with me. Why wouldn't he want me? Why wasn't he holding my hand? Why wasn't I enough? And now you're lying here, and I know that there must be something pretty special about me if you're lying here with me. And so Emily Fitch, I need you to know that. I needed you to know that."

And now I'm crying too.

I will love her forever.

I will love her no matter what.

And as we lay here in the dark park, and we start to recover from our crying, I realize that in all my life, I will never love anyone else the way I love her, and that's fine with me, because I never planned on it anyways.

I don't really remember sneaking back into the hospital, but I found myself in the hospital bed, and there was Naomi spooning me, and Katie was passed out in one of the chairs, and Cook was sleeping next to her, falling over trying to make sure she was in his arms.

I hear soft mumblings in my ear, and I smile again. I close my eyes again, and let myself drift off back to sleep.

I feel weak.

I feel weaker.

It's hard to articulate this, but I will try.

Have you ever tried to punch or so something like that when you're sick? And you just know it's weak and that you're ill and slipping further into sickness? But at the same time, you know that you'll get better?

Well, it's like that, only I'm not too sure on that last part.

Now, you've probably been reading this, and found yourself thinking how incredibly morbid this is of me to think.

Well, I am not saying I will die, but I am saying that I am dying.

And that scares me too.

I am feeling myself go farther and farther into this sickness and nothing is improving. I might not die, but I am definitely dying, and there is no possible way of accepting that without it being morbid, and so this whole thing will sound morbid, but at the same time, I haven't accepted it.

And neither has Naomi.

Although, I know that it has hit her, that this is really truly happening, and that she will not wake up one day to find that I have miraculously gotten better over night, and that everything is okay now. That she and I will not have to worry about hospital visits, and we will not have to worry about running too fast or making me laugh.

The first thing I want to do when I am better is run up the hill that Naomi and I watched Ferris Bueller's Day Off on. I will run up the entire thing, and my lungs will not scream like they would now, and I will not cough like I am in my seventies, and Naomi will not have to worry about taking it slow.

And notice how I said when. Which may seem presumptuous, but it's hard for me to really consider it to be any other way. Sure I may think about it, but really, the idea of me in the ground while there is never a world filled with Naomi and I's wedding night, or our children running around, or sitting on rocking chairs together is crazy to me.

How can there be a world where Naomi and I don't grow old together, where I don't grow old period?

A nurse enters my room.

She's older, and her face is kind, but there's something else there, and it's then that I realize it's sadness, and that it must be from all the children she has watched pass, from all the people lost.

A person can never get used to that.

"You seem to be doing a lot of thinking, dear," she says gently, like if she says it any louder I will shatter.

And it makes me smile and makes me mad all at once.

I know she is trying to be kind, and I know that she is probably a very nice person, and that I am very sick, but I wish I wouldn't be treated like I am made of glass.

I wish I wasn't treated like I am some vase in a museum, like I will break so easily and that I am untouchable.

There's something incredibly unpleasant about that.

I want to be treated like a human, not some cold thing you have to stay away from.

"Yeah, just thinking about things."

"There's a lot of time to do that here. But you'll get better."

I wonder how many people she's told that to. I wonder how many people she lied to as a result.

She walks off a little later, and I reach for on of my many books.

Perks of Being a Wallflower is what is sitting on the top of my pile, and I smile because I know it's Naomi's copy, the one she has written on and read many times.

And so I read, and I love it, and I read Naomi's notes on the sides, and I know how much she loves this book, and I stop at one certain place. It's a quote that's been underlined a few times and highlighted.

"After that, I couldn't believe that Sam actually got me a present because I honestly thought that the 'I love you' was it."

And in the margins she wrote, "Emily, Christmas 2014."

And it makes me smile even more, and it's a wonderful thing to know that the person you love so completely and amazingly, loves you back, just as much.

It really is unlike any feeling in the world. It's amazing and it makes you smile so huge that it hurts your cheeks.

I continue to read and smile and enjoy all her little notes, and then I find myself looking up into her smiling face.

"Hey Ems. Miss me?"

"Incredibly."

And she kisses me softly.

"Well, that's good to hear. I wouldn't want you to be glad that I was gone."

"Well, now that you've mentioned it…."

"Hey!"

I laugh as she takes off her messenger bag and shoes, and situates herself next to me, like it's always been.

"I found your notes in your copy of Perks of Being a Wallflower."

"Did you like it? Please tell me you did."

"I loved it."

"Oh thank god."

I laugh again.

As the day turns into the night, and she's still here next to me, that's all I can think about.

How incredibly lucky I am to have Naomi in my life.

 **Yeah, short I know.**

 **So, I hope you guys liked that. Next chapter will be up on Sunday.**

 **Let me know what you thought!**


	21. Chapter 21

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hi!**

 **So, here we have another chapter. It's a little bit short, and I'm sorry about that, but I hope you guys like it anyways.**

 **Thank you once again for all of your support. It encourages me and means the world to me, and has really made me very happy and I feel very lucky.**

 **On a serious note, I want to say something about the awful things that have happened recently. Words cannot describe how truly devastating it is to hear about Paris, Japan, Beirut, Baghdad, Lebanon, and more. I am truly sorry to hear about such tragedies, and words cannot describe my shock when I heard the terrible news about Paris, and then found out about the other awful things that happened in the world recently. To anyone in these places, or who have loved ones there, or anyone, please know that my thoughts are with you, and I am truly sorry.**

 **Chapter 21:**

The beeping never ceases.

It's panicky, and scary, and it chills my bones.

But it's even worse when it stops.

When it stops it means much more than the ceasing of the annoying beeping.

It means the last breath, and the last heart beat. It means the wailing cries of parents and other family members.

It means the ceasing of life.

The hospital always feels like a strange place where you shouldn't be, but I guess that it was never meant to become a home, or a place where you feel at ease.

I'm sitting in a chair by her bed, and if you don't know whom I mean when I say her, then you should stop and think for a second.

Here, let me give you a second to think.

You good?

Okay, so moving on, I'm sitting by her bed, and I'm holding her hand as she sleeps. I just finished school for the day, and when I got to the hospital, she was sleeping peacefully, and she looked so beautiful.

Her hand feels a bit cold in mine, but I push that thought out of my head.

And her hair is thinner, and so is her wrist, but I don't want to think about that.

And her-

I close my eyes harshly, trying to cease these thoughts.

I open them and there she is.

The girl I love.

The girl who's dying.

Her beeping monitor continues.

I watch it, like if I look away it'll stop, and then her hand will be even colder and I will break.

Her face looks so pale and thin from where I'm sitting.

And she looks so tiny, so fragile, but she looks so beautiful.

She really does.

I lower my head down, so my forehead is on her stomach and I sigh.

I sigh because what else do you do?

What do you do when the girl you love is dying and all you can do is hold her hand?

And so I sigh, loudly and sadly, and there's something very somber about this whole thing, and all I want to do is go back to when I was naïve and cancer was merely an idea.

I find myself wondering about everything.

Just everything.

And I watch her slightly parted lips, and her gentle moving, and despite it all, despite how scared I am, how sad I am, I can't help but get this feeling that in ten years, we'll still be together.

And in 20 years.

And in 30 years.

And in 60 years.

We'll still be together. It's just this feeling that's in my gut, that says fuck off to what the doctors say, and to the kids like Amanda Horite.

Also, fun fact about Amanda Horite:

Turns out, she did not appreciate me ripping down her poster.

There was a time when I was friends with everyone, or I guess, friendly with everyone, because believe me, there is a difference.

And now, maybe that's not the case.

Amanda Horite and her crew despises/feels bad for me.

The mad scientists have to put out their own damn fires.

The stoners only share a spliff on a rare occasion with me now.

And I'm okay with that.

Because I've realized that in not being surrounded by people who don't care, I've found those who do.

Cook and I have always been best friends, and he's one my favorite people on this planet, and I know that we'll still be friends when we'll 94, and we'll get in trouble for stealing some lady named Ethel's pudding at our nursing home.

But I've found Katie and Emily as well.

Katie is not like I thought she was, and while she can still be bitchy, she's turned into a friend of mine, someone I care about.

And Emily, well… this entire thing is for her.

She's unlike any human being I've ever met, and she makes me so happy, and in all the words there are in the English language (there are about 1,025,109.8, I looked it up. The .8 doesn't really make sense to me) I cannot describe my love for her.

And so yes, maybe things are different now, but given a million chances to change what has happened, I would choose this life every time.

So, yes, in 10 years, I'll be holding her hand, and she'll be just fine.

There's a quote from Winnie the Pooh, and do not mock Winnie the Pooh, or else I'll find you, and I'll force you to watch Mean Girls 2, not the one that everyone, including myself loves, I'm talking about the shitty second movie they made with all different actors.

But there's a quote from Winnie the Pooh that I really love.

"If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you."

And so, when I'm old and dying, I hope I die first, because I never want to find myself in a world that doesn't have Emily in it.

I don't want to see that world.

There were flowers on the table and cards and stuff and it reminded me of when I first went over to her house, and found her sitting there on the bed, and there were all those flowers and cards, and I didn't know it then, but looking right at me was the love of my life.

And I wonder what my nine year old me, rolling around on the floor, clutching my arm after falling from the monkey bars would say if she knew that this girl was the one whom I would love so much my heart feels like it's bursting.

She'd probably smile and say something like, "Really? That's cool."

Yes, it is cool, very cool indeed.

I got home later that night and as I was about to walk up the stairs to my room, my mum stopped me.

"Naomi."

I stopped in my tracks and looked to where she sat on the couch.

She patted the seat next to her, so I moved and sat down.

"Yeah mum?"

"I just wanted to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Are you okay honey?"

Yes, I'm totally fine. Absolutely fine. It's not as if I just came back from watching the only girl I've ever loved lay in her hospital bed.

"Yeah."

"Oh honey."

"I'm fine mum," I said, but my voice was becoming more and more choked up and sad, and it kept catching and I chastised myself for crying again. And maybe that sounds wrong, to want to stop crying, but I really did wish I would. But I couldn't.

"Honey."

"It's… I'm… I'm…."

"Oh sweetheart," she cooed and took me in her arms.

I tried to be fine, I really did. And I tried to be the adult that I technically was, but I couldn't.

I tried to make my body rigged, tried to act stiff and fine and I tried not to cry, but then there were tears streaming down my face and my mum was gently shushing and cooing and I just cried into her shoulder.

And maybe that's it. Maybe adults still want, still need their mums.

I didn't feel like an adult. I felt like I was 6 and a half.

* * *

It was Saturday, the last days of April, when the doctor told us what I already knew to be true deep down:

Emily really wasn't improving. He had said it so many times before, and so once again he said it, and he looked guilty and maybe he was, even though it wasn't his fault, but I guess it's just something people feel guilty about, even though it was never their fault.

But he says that she is only getting sicker, and really, I don't know how to tell you how it feels to hear that.

It feels like I've been stabbed, but they leave the knife in, and then they twist it, and they push it deeper, and it's just there, impaling me and leaving me breathless and in pain.

I guess that's the best way to describe it.

But I spent the day with Emily in her bed, as the rain came down hard, and we watched movie after movie, some cheesy, some funny, some stupid, and I just held her, because that was all I could do.

I couldn't make her cancer leave her, it wasn't possible. The only thing I could do was be there, and hope that one day it would be gone.

Things felt sad, and things were ending, the school year coming to a close.

People were getting ready to go to accept that they would be done with high school, and that maybe all those friends they made, and all those teachers they complained about would become distant, untouchable memories to be told to their kids who didn't really want to hear about them.

I remember when I was little and there was a kid who lived on my block, many years older than me.

His name escapes me know, but he was maybe nine years older than me, and I remember watching him grow up.

He went from being a child, to a huffy preteen, to an even huffier teen, and eventually he was gone, and I didn't know where he went, and his parents lived without him, and they seemed sad, empty maybe, and one time mum invited them for dinner, and they just looked at me a lot. They watched me play, and they watched me do whatever stupid things I did, and they were smiling softly, and at the time I didn't realize they were sad.

And I didn't realize that they were just two parents who missed their son.

So everything is coming to a close, and it's peaceful, and it's also kinda unnerving, the thought that I will be like the one boy who lived on my street, and so will Cook, and so will Katie, and eventually Paddy too, even Holly Deranter, the girl who has striped underwear according to Paddy.

And hopefully Emily will too.

* * *

"You think too much Naoms," she said softly on a Tuesday, the first one of May. She was on her bed, and still dressed in her hospital gown, and I was lying down next to her.

"What do you think about?" She asked me.

"Everything, mostly you," I said, closing my eyes for a bit.

Things were quiet, well, sort of. There was still the beeping and there were still various sounds throughout this building.

"Will you read to me Naoms?" She asked, grabbing my hand, and I opened my eyes.

"Of course," I said and got out of the bed, and grabbed the book that was on top of the pile.

"Okay, chapter seven ," I began, and I read page after page as her eyelids fluttered shut and then open, fighting a hopeless battle against the inevitability that was sleep.

And eventually her eyelids were closed, and the sky was dark, and so I kissed her forehead, and I walked home, hands in my pockets, and making the long journey back, chastising myself for not borrowing my mum's car.

It was cold and raining, and so very dark, but there was a light on and then I saw the sign, and I mean that literally, not in some metaphorical sense.

The shopkeeper was just about to close the door, but then I stopped him.

It was an old movie place.

He looked at me, and maybe if I wasn't soaked from the rain, and maybe if it wasn't so dark out, and maybe it I didn't look so goddamn desperate, he would have closed the door, locked it, and left, but instead, he sighed softly, opened it, and held it out for me as he switched on all the lights.

He sat in a chair near the door as I walked to some of the bins, and scanned through them, scrolling past movie after movie, when he finally stopped me.

"Listen, kid, can you come back later maybe? Or is there something you need specifically? Believe it or not, I do want to go home."

And so I told him, and he frowned a bit, tilting his head in confusion before he rushed into the back of the door, snapping his fingers.

"I know just the movies you're talking about!"

And I smiled, getting all excited and worked up and ready for him to pull them out.

And there they were, Eying the Stranger and Lighting the Sky, in all their glory, the cases looking so wonderful.

"Couldn't find Night of Love anywhere, sorry kid," he shrugged, and the man really did look sorry.

And as much as I wish he had found them, I couldn't help but be excited at the movies he held in his hands.

And so I paid him, giving him a _very_ generous tip and tucking them underneath my jacket, walking back into the rain, and I felt sort of like singing, but then I said:

"Fuck that, it's fucking cold."

And I walked home.

And when I got home I found the box in my room where I had put all the rest, and had put the list, and I crossed off these two and out them in the box carefully, like they would disappear if I wasn't cautious enough.

I went to bed smiling that night, listening to the gentle rain, hoping the Emily was smiling too.

* * *

The next day when I got to school, things were like they had always been, which I guess really wasn't a surprise.

Mrs. Incart was still sad, and Mr. Dirken still bored me to the point where I wondered if I should jump out the window and try to make a run for it.

I decided to stay in my seat instead.

I only semi regretted it.

I sat at the library table with Cook at lunch, and Katie joined us halfway through.

"I told my friends I'm in the bathroom," she laughed. "Violet wouldn't shut the fuck up about her boyfriend Tommy."

I laughed and things were kinda nice, even if she did tell me that my fashion sense made all of the country weep.

I told her to fuck off.

And Cook just sat there smiling like a loon, obviously happy that he was there with his best friend and his girlfriend.

And I was happy too.

And after school I went back to see Emily, and there she was, laying down in her bed, but really, did you expect me to tell you she was there, doing flips and singing jazz?

I mean, really?

She was reading, and looked up at me smiling.

"'Ello lover," I said in a thick, slightly offensive, most definitely incorrect accent.

"'Ello governah."

Yep, it was most definitely offensive and incorrect.

"How was your day?" I asked, setting my back down.

"Great, I ran a marathon, walked on the moon, and then I…"

"Alright, Ms. Sarcasm."

"I learned from the best."

I laughed and kissed her.

The beeping continued, and I kissed her again.

 **Okay, so the ending was kinda abrupt, but I hope you guys liked it.**

 **To answer a question from a guest, this story still has a ways to go, and yes, I have written other things as well, before I wrote this, but they are not very good. I will be writing more after this story ends, but hey, we aren't done with this story yet, and I can't wait for you guys to read what I have planned.**

 **Next chapter will be posted on Sunday.**

 **I hope you guys enjoyed this! Let me know what you thought!**


	22. Chapter 22

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hey guys!**

 **Okay, so this one is a really short chapter, but that's because I have a lot planned for next chapter!**

 **Thanks to everyone, really, it means a lot to me!**

 **Thank mswitsend for giving me a shoutout and also to marsupial1974 for giving me one in her third chapter of You've Been Holding My Heart All Along. Jesus their stories are amazing! And once again, thank you to everyone, author or not for supporting me. There are so many amazing stories out there, and I'm really grateful that all of you have taken the time to read my kinda crappy one.**

 **Also, I suggest you check out two stories that haven't received as much attention as they should! After the Moonrise by Alexandra Condesso and Under My Skin by Jbrossk.**

 **Away we go!**

 **Chapter 22:**

"Chapter 3 is where it gets good Naoms," she said, eyes semi-closed, her voice weaker than before.

I was reading to her. It was in the first days of May, the second I believe. She lay there so small in her bed as I flicked through pages, reading aloud to her.

And here we were, chapter three of the latest book, and she suddenly seemed more alert than before.

"Chapter 3," I began, and the words rolled off my tongue and her drowsy, weak smile got bigger.

I reached out and held her hand, it was thin, and it felt cold, really cold. I took off my jacket and draped it over her, kissing her forehead softly after I did so.

"Come on, don't stop now! It's just getting good," she said, smiling so beautifully it hurt.

"So where was I?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Chapter 3! It's my favorite!" She said, and hit my arm, softer she before, weaker.

I ignored that thought.

"Chapter 3," I began again.

I found myself lying down next to her when the day became night.

She was curled into me, and I stared up at the ceiling.

She would wake up every couples of minutes, coughing and then go back to sleep, and I held her in my arms, her body so thin, why was it so thin?

Why was it so thin?

Why was it so fucking thin?

I choked up a bit.

Why?

Why?

I try to ignore all of these thoughts, flying at me at alarming speeds, blinding me and hurting me, making me want to hurl.

Two days later I was on the couch, watching some crappy TV sitcom, with some equally stupid name, and it went to commercial, and some lady tried to sell me some new kitchen product, and I wondered if she was happy, because she didn't look happy.

And my mum was sitting down next to me, and she looked over at me, and then looked back at the TV.

"Things will be okay," she said, eyes still on the TV.

"What?" But I knew exactly what she was talking about. "I didn't say anything."

"You didn't need to, love," she said in her motherly way.

"And how can you be so sure?" I was desperate for her to be right, for her to know for a fact, like some kind of superhero. It wasn't a fair thing to ask of her, but I really just needed to hear it.

"A mother just knows these things. I know everything," she said, laughing a bit at the last part, but somehow still semi-serious.

"You thought I was straight when I was little," I said, challenging her.

She laughed.

"Oh honey, I never thought that."

"Bitch."

But it felt good to hear her say that Emily would be okay.

But that's when it hit me.

She never said that.

I looked over to her, my heart in my throat.

"She'll be okay," she said quietly, but she didn't seem as certain as she had been before.

It felt like someone had punched me.

Have you ever had a shit day? Where things have just been bad, and then you get mad, but you get mad at the person who never even had anything to do with it?

That happened today.

I didn't really mean it to, but it happened, _again._

Mandy.

This time, she hadn't really done anything wrong, she hadn't said anything, or done anything, but I was mad at the world, _again._

And so she was standing there outside, and she kinda smirked at me, and there was something that bothered me about the smirk so much, like she was laughing at my pain, like she found this whole thing to be some sick, twisted, kind of funny.

And so I walked up to her, and she her smirk faltered a bit, but she kept it on anyway, like it was in fashion.

"Campbell! Here for round 2? Was it not bad enough last time, huh? What, do you like pain? I bet you-" She didn't get to finish.

I tackled her to the ground, my right shoulder hitting her square in the stomach.

What happened next was a blur, but not like all those nights ago when we were driving around aimlessly, no, this was different.

It was hazy, and I just remembered flying fists, and chanting, and Cook's voice in my head, and Emily's face, and I remember feeling pain, but ignoring it.

I remember hitting her, repeatedly, harder and harder, like by doing so, it would fix things, when in reality, it didn't make me feel any better when it was over.

But I didn't know that at the time, so I just kept on hurting her, punching her, and I ignored the blood coming from my nose, and the cuts on the face, and the bruises forming on my bloodied fists.

She threw me off of her.

I remember that.

And I remember being kicked in the stomach, and being told to stay down.

And I remember grabbing her leg, pulling her down, and punching her again.

And I remember being in an office again, ripped shirt, and bloodied nose, and the principal saying something about fighting, and Saturday school, and something about Emily, and how he, "gets that I'm going through a difficult period in my life, but that fighting is unacceptable."

I walked out later, and I felt just the same, and then I was at Cook's and he was cleaning up my fists, and kissing my knuckles, and hugging me, and telling me that he was worried about me, that he is worried about me.

And Kate sat there looking concerned, and then there was Emily.

Because there's always Emily, and there will always be Emily.

In my thoughts, and clouding my vision, and in my heart.

Always in my heart. It's hers now.

Maybe it always was.

And then I thought of my dad, sitting in my bed next to me in my bed, laughing and telling me stories and stuff that dads say, or that I imagine they usually say.

"And someday, you'll find someone, and you'll love them so incredibly, and you don't know them yet, or maybe you do, but you just don't know yet, and you won't know it for quite some time. But they're out there."

And so here she was, sitting in a hospital bed, caressing my fingers and kissing every cut and bruise that had formed on my face as she listened to me describe what I could remember from the fight.

It was May fifth, I remember that part clearly.

She looked so sick sitting there, she really did. She looked beautiful, she always did and always would, but she was ill, and you could tell.

"Hey, there's something I do sometimes when you're," she coughed for a bit. For a while. "At school," she finished.

"Yeah?" I asked. "What is it?"

"Come on, I'll show you," she said, and sat up.

"Woah, woah, woah," I protested. "Is it a good idea for you to be getting up right now?"

"Naoms, it's fine."

"We could get you a wheel chair or something."

"Naomi, it's fine."

And so she grabbed my hand with thin fingers and walked me to an area.

Emily walked into a room, and there sat a little girl with no hair.

"Emily!" Her eyes got so big and bright, and Emily smiled so largely, I wondered if this was the cutest thing I had ever seen.

"Hey Casey!" She said, and scooped the little girl into a big hug. "How are you?"

"Good. Mummy bought me a new toy!" She held it out to Emily so proudly, and my smile only got bigger.

"Who's this?" She asked, kinda shyly.

"This is my girlfriend, Naomi," Emily said softly, grabbing my hand.

"Hi," she said, and sort of waved, a shy smile adorning her face.

"Hello," I said, smiling, and I watched Emily talk to her, asking about her day, and the whole time I had this stupid sort of grin on my face.

Because it's so cute and it made my hear swell with happiness.

"What happened to your face?" She asked, gingerly reaching out, and touching on of the bruises softly.

I crouch down even more.

"Well, you see, I got into a fight," I say sheepishly.

"Why?"

"Because, well, you know, uhh… wanna see something cool?" I said, trying to avoid the subject.

"Yeah!"

"Okay, so in this hand, I have nothing, and in this other hand, I have nothing." I say, getting ready to do a magic trick that that kid JJ showed me after I had taken care of the girl who used to bully him.

"Okay, hey… did you wash behind your ears?" I ask, jokingly furrowing my brow and tilting my head."

"Maybe…." She kinda looks sheepish and smiles.

"I don't think you did. I mean, look!" And with that I pull out a quarter from behind her ear.

"Wow! How did you do that?!" I hand her the quarter, and she looks down at it amazed.

I lean in close to her ear, like it's some kinda secret, and whisper, "Magic."

"Really?" She asks, eyes wide. 

"Really. But don't tell anyone okay? It's just between you and me."

"Okay. Your secret it safe with me!"

"I knew I could trust you."

And she's smiling so big, and Emily looks so fucking happy, and I could melt right there.

I mean, I didn't. But I could.

I really could.

Later at night, when I'm lying in bed, next to her, all I can think about is how good she was with Casey, and how she would be with our kids, and will we get to have kids?

Will we get married?

Will we move into together?

Will we grow old together?

Please, please, let me.

And now I'm thinking of the Smiths song, and then I think about that song in Ferris Bueller's Day Off, and then I'm thinking about when we watched Ferris Bueller's Day Off on that hill, and we looked at the stars.

I kiss her forehead one last time before I drift off for the night.

The next day I leave to go home, bashed face, and a heart feeling better than before.

My mum and I have a silent breakfast, and I know she knows about my face, the school must have called her, but she doesn't say anything.

I'm chewing on a piece of something, I'm not entirely sure what it is. It doesn't look like food, I'll tell you that. It doesn't taste like food either. It tastes like bullshit.

But I eat it anyways, because I know it makes my mum happy, and I guess it's just something that people do. Like when mums say that their child is beautiful, their kids eat their food when it's gross, because it's just the thing that you do.

And she doesn't mention it later either, and I'm upstairs, looking at it, staring at my back eye and cuts, and kinda laughing knowing Mandy got it way worse.

I throw myself onto my bed, and I reach for my book, turning it to page one, the beginning of a new adventure, this book that I will probably be reading to Emily soon.

And I reach into the pocket of my coat, looking for a mint (I started carrying them when Emily and I started dating so my breath wouldn't be shit) and I freeze when my hand meets paper instead.

It's not the napkin with the bleeding ink, but instead it's something else.

I take it out, frowning at the piece of paper, unfolding it carefully.

And there, in Emily's nice and neat handwriting was:

"You'll always be my Chapter 3."

 **Okay, so there we have it!**

 **So, I won't have access to a computer for a bit because of Thanksgiving, but have no fear, I will still post on Sunday!**

 **I hope you all have a good Thanksgiving!**

 **Let me know what you thought!**


	23. Chapter 23

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hi!**

 **Sorry, I know this is a bit late. I'm really sorry about that.**

 **I said I had a lot planned, and I meant it, and I hope you think this is good, especially since I've had some of the ideas in this chapter for a long, long time.**

 **Thanks again to everyone. Your support is truly amazing, and without it, this story would be left at chapter 1, so thank you so much. Words will never be able to tell you how grateful I am.**

 **I hope everyone who celebrated Thanksgiving had a good Thanksgiving.**

 **Okay, so let's go!**

 **Chapter 23:**

Emily got worse.

I'm sorry to be so abrupt, I really, truly am, but cancer is abrupt, and I couldn't find myself to being able to break things to you in a way that was not so blunt.

I tried, but it's hard to voice it any other way.

I couldn't lie, and tell you it was fine, _she_ was fine, that she got better, and she gained back her weight, and her hair grew back out, and she didn't cough when I made her laugh, and that we could run up hills and go out. I couldn't tell you she wasn't sick.

Because that's not true.

It wasn't a large decline, not like some massive one, but really things got even worse. She was even more tired when I came around, and when I kissed her knuckles they were bonier than ever before, and she felt very cold, and she coughed so much, I might have guessed she smoked three packs of cigarettes a day.

And so I would come to the hospital, and I would be with her, because I didn't want to ever not be with her.

And sometimes I read to her, and sometimes I didn't. And sometimes we watched movies, and sometimes we didn't. And sometimes we listened to music, and sometimes we didn't.

And we felt like a normal couple, in love and happy, but we weren't.

She was lying in a hospital bed, dying.

And I remember when Mr. Fitch came into visit her one day. Her family spent a lot of time with her as well.

He came in, but his bright smile was gone, and he stood in the doorway, watching me read to Emily as she drifted off, and he gave me a soft smile.

And that's when I decided to give them a minute alone, even though by then, Emily had drifted out of consciousness.

I went to go grab a soda from a vending machine in the hallway.

And I walked around a little bit, visiting all the little kids that Emily and I had started to visit so much together.

It was later that I saw Mr. Fitch crumple and cry.

I had returned, and I stood in the doorway, and I watched as he sat in the chair I usually sat in, and he sobbed, his head bent down, tears streaming out.

I remembered all that time ago, when he held me as I cried, and I didn't know if Mr. Fitch had ever been held, but I think that there are moments sometimes everybody needs to be held.

And so I walked up to him, and he stood up, and he hugged me, so powerful, falling into me, that I stumbled back a bit, but managed to hold him up anyways.

"My little girl," he sobbed.

I held him.

"…born with ten perfect toes, and ten beautiful little fingers…"

I held him.

"…always a Daddy's little girl…"

I held him.

It felt odd to have this man cry in my arms, but I did it anyways, because this whole thing felt very odd.

I'm not sure how long I held him, but eventually, he backed away, thanked me for doing that, and he told me two things that I won't forget:

1."Thank you for taking care of my daughter. Thank you for loving her. Thank you for being precious with her heart, it's one of the most important things to me."

2."If you ever tell anyone that I cried, I'll hunt you down."

It wouldn't take him very long to find me. All he would have to do is look for Emily. He'd find me right by her side, a place I will never leave.

Prom only made things worse.

There were posters everywhere, probably made by Amanda Horite and her gang of well meaning but terminally stupid friends.

But they were in the hallway, in the entrance to school, on the walls in my classes. I couldn't get away from it.

Emily used to talk about prom.

She'd mention it before things got really bad, and she'd say how excited she was, and how she already had an idea of what she would want to wear, and how she had an idea of what she wanted me to wear, and how amazing it would be, and all of these things and I would find myself getting excited too.

And maybe we would still go.

Maybe we could.

Sure she was sick, but it's prom! I mean, she's gotta go. Right?

And maybe we could still do all of those things.

And maybe it wouldn't feel like she was dying.

And maybe everything would be all right.

Cook and Katie are going. Katie seemed upset that she didn't get to do the whole shopping and stuff thing with Emily, but she still seemed excited, just less than she would have been had things been different.

And Cook, well Cook was shitting himself, and it was funny to me how much we had grown.

We were 18 now, and we both had girlfriends, and we were becoming those grown ups we didn't really want to be, and still we were those children who used to run from my neighbor's mean, violent dog.

But I digress.

Prom.

And I allowed myself to be a little excited, now that this prospect that Emily and I could still go was there.

Hope was alive, burning and beautiful.

And so I had it all planned out.

I was at the mall with Cook when I figured it out.

How I would ask Emily to prom.

And so I got to work, like only a mad person in love with a plan could.

There was poster board, and glue, and letters and it looked kinda crap, but it was made with love, just like my mum's well-meaning attempts at making cookies.

Prom was fast approaching.

It was Wednesday, and Prom was on Saturday.

Emily was awake and smiling when I walked in to her hospital room on that Wednesday afternoon, holding the sign behind my back, like she couldn't see the sides poking out.

She's not fucking blind Naomi.

But I held it behind my back, and she tilted her head to the side.

And that's when I pulled it out from behind my back, the glittery (I fucking despise glitter, that stuff it shit and you will never ever truly fucking be rid of it, but it looked nice on the poster) and bright construction paper letters cut by yours truly spelling out:

"My name is Naomi Campbell. You stole my heart. Prepare to go to Prom with me."

It barely fit on the poster, but it did, so I stood there holding the sign with a big grin on my face.

"Emily, will you please do me the honor of going to prom with me?"

There were tears in her eyes, and she looked so happy, and she was smiling and I prepared myself for the yes.

"No."

My heart stopped.

Had I done something wrong? Was the sign shitty? Were those tears of sadness and not joy? How did I fuck this up? How am I that bad at reading signals?

"Naomi, let me explain."

What have I done? Oh god, of course I managed to fuck this up! Oh fucking shit! I fucked everything up once again!

"Naomi, you're gonna think yourself to death."

I looked up.

"I don't understand." My voice was a whisper of what it usually was as I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"I want to go to Prom with you so badly Naomi, you have no idea. I mean, I want to go so much it hurts, but we both know-"

"I don't know Emily," I said, because I didn't. Well, maybe I did, deep down I did, but I had put that aside, and so know I found myself looking down at the ground, at my shoes, trying to swallow the lumps that continually kept forming in my throat.

"Naoms, please look at me. Come here honey."

I walked over to her bed, still looking down at my shoes, and took a seat.

She gently tilted my chin up until I was looking into her warm chocolate eyes.

"Naomi, I can't leave the hospital, I'm too sick." The statement was only furthered when she started to cough again, loud and violent and exactly how you would imagine how a sick person would.

And it hurt to hear. It really did. And to think of all those kids at my school who didn't have to worry about rejection because their date was too sick to leave the hospital.

I wanted to go to Prom with Emily, and I wanted to go get her punch, and dance with her in the gym, and I wanted all of those things I had never wanted before I had Emily.

We spent the rest of the day in her bed. We didn't talk too much that day, and I don't think we could have because the mood was kinda somber, but even then, I couldn't imagine not being here with her.

It was Thursday in which I found myself staring out the window in all of my classes, and clicking my pen obnoxiously, and trying to will away all the recurring thoughts of prom.

It hurt too much.

My teachers chastised my lack of concentration, or so I think, I wasn't really listening.

The kids talked about Prom like no one had ever heard of it before, and people had their plans for the night, some girls talking stretch limos and dresses, some guys talking about corsages, most talking about hotel rooms after prom.

And I hope this isn't coming off a too woe as me, or like I think I'm the only one to ever have problems.

But I can't help it. It hurts more than words can describe.

I was sitting in Emily's room later that say, talking about classes and stuff of that sort when she said something I wouldn't have expected if you had given me an endless amount of guesses.

"You should still go to Prom Naoms."

"What?"

"Just because I can't go, doesn't mean you shouldn't go either."

"Emily-"

"You should ask someone else. Not, in like a romantic way, but, I mean, I still want you to be able to go with someone who's… you know."

"No, I don't know."

"Who's not dying. You could ask that Amy Skyler, the one who likes to write death poems. I think she has a little crush on you. Just don't get any ideas Naoms."

Was she crazy? Why would I want to go with someone who's not her?

"I'm not going to do that."

"Okay, well what about that Didi Oranga? Or how about Jillian Bobringerts? I think I've heard that they both like you. I mean… I don't want you to date them, or treat it like a date though…"

"Emily-"

"I mean I want you to have fun, but you're mine Naoms. And I'm yours. And, well… yeah. But like I was saying, there are a lot of people I'm sure you could ask."

"Ems-"

"Or what about-"

"Don't you get it?"

"Get what?" She looked confused.

"Don't you get it?" I say a bit louder this time.

"Get what?" She asks louder.

"I don't want fucking Amy Skyler, or fucking… fucking Didi or Jillian! I want you!" My voice was only getting louder. "Don't you get it Ems? I don't want anyone else! Give me a hundred fucking girls, I won't care, because they aren't you! I want you! You, Emily Fitch! Don't you understand?! You! You! You! It's you! It's always been you, I've just been too stupid to realize it all along! Since I was fucking little Emily! It's you! No one else!"

I was panting by the time I was done.

Emily was staring at me with those big beautiful eyes.

"Oh Naoms," she said, voice breaking a bit, and there we were, in her bed, a big blubbering mess.

"I just want you to be happy," she whispered fiercely into my neck.

"I'm happy when I'm with you."

So Friday came and went with boring tests, and I found myself at Cook's house on Saturday morning, as he started to freak out about Prom even more, and Paddy ate his cereal on the couch calmly like the mature 11 year old he is.

"So you're not going?" He asked me for the 50th fucking time _this morning._

"For the last fucking time, Cookie, no."

"Who else is gonna spike the punch bowl with me? Well, maybe Emilio could still use a Prom," he said, not really paying attention to what he was saying.

Oh my god, this man is a fucking genius.

"Cook, say that again!"

"Say what?"

"What you just said!"

"What did I just say?"

"You know what you just said!"

"I do?"

"For fuck's sake, yes!"

"The bit about Emilio, Naomio?"

"Yes!"

"Oh."

"…."

"Do you want me to still say it?"

"You know what, it's fine."

He got an excited look on his face.

"You got a plan, don't you, Blondie?"

"Yes I do," I said, rubbing my hands together.

"Am I apart of this plan."

"Yes."

And so I receded to the files about Emily in my memory, and found this bit about Prom.

It was promptly titled:

 _What Emily Wants You to Wear to Prom, and Don't Fuck This Up Or Else Emily Might be Sad and if She's Sad, Then You're Sad, and Then the Night Will Suck and Like You Said Before, Emily Will be Sad, and She Should Never be Sad_

And there it was:

My plan.

And later that night, Cook and I were in my room, getting ready, tying ties and fixing makeup. Not Cook. Me. I was fixing my makeup.

"Naomi!" My mum called from downstairs.

"Yeah?!"

"Naomi!"

"Yes mum?!"

"Naomi!"

"Oh for fuck's sake," I mumbled and trudged downstairs.

"Yes?" I asked once I was standing in front of her.

"I just wanted to see how beautiful you looked." There were tears in her eyes, and I wondered if that was a thing that mums just did, too.

"Oh honey," she said, eyes filled with tears.

And I smiled kinda shyly, not really sure about what to do other than just stand there awkwardly.

And that's when I saw the TV.

"What are you watching mum?" I asked, hoping to change the subject.

I was successful.

"Oh, it's just about over. It's an old movie a friend gave me. It's good, but not my favorite."

"What's it called?" I asked, watching the image of a man move across the screen.

"Uhh, Day of… no, that's not it. Hmmm… oh! I know! It's called Night of Love."

I didn't think I had heard her right.

How is it that the movie I had needed most was here the whole time?

But then again, how is it that Emily, the love of my life had been there the whole time, and it had taken me for fucking ever to realize it?

"Mum, can I have that? Please?" My voice was desperate and in shock.

"Of course love." And with that she put the DVD back in the case and handed it to me.

I looked down at it for maybe three minutes, still not sure how this was possible.

And then I rushed back up to my room, bursting through the door, ignoring Cook's questions and pulling out the box where 14 movies lay.

And now there were 15.

15 movies that Emily had thought she would never see again.

15 movies I had worked so fucking hard to find.

15 movies that were so much fucking trouble, but that would be worth it.

The hospital was like how it always was when it was dark out.

It was quiet and it should have been calming, but it never really was.

Emily sat on the bed, looking straight ahead at the wall when I walked in, nice shirt, nice pants, nice shoes, suspenders, and tie, looking like that one kid who always takes his yearbook photo way too seriously, although instead of wearing a suit jacket, I wore my army jacket.

She looked at me, surprise etched on her face.

"Naoms?" She didn't seem to believe that I was there, standing in front of her like this.

"Emily," I said, smiling.

"What are you doing here? You look amazing."

"Well, since you couldn't go to the Prom, I brought the Prom to you."

And I put the box with all the movies to the side, leaving those for later.

"So, will you allow me to have this dance?"

I walked over to her bed, and I crouched down on one knee, holding out my hand for her.

"I'd love that."

And so I stood up, and I put my hands on her waist, and helped her out of bed, and led her other to the middle of the room, where the music started to softly play from my phone.

She linked her arms around my neck, and my hands stayed around her waist, and she put her head on my shoulder.

Good feeling, won't you stay with me just a little longer?

It always seems like you're leaving when I need you here just a little longer

Dear lady, there's so many things that I have come to fear

Little voice says I'm going crazy to see all my worlds disappear

(Violent Femmes- Good Feeling)

"It's our song," she whispered softly into my ear.

"I know," I said, and we swayed softly. She had to lean on me a bit for support.

And the light in her room had been turned off, and the room was dim, and I couldn't think of anywhere else I wanted to be.

She looked so beautiful, there in my arms, and don't think it would have been possible for me to not kiss her, but I would never find out because I leaned in and pressed our lips together, and we kissed so deeply I could get lost and never be found, and I would be okay with that.

I would be happy with that.

It was a little bit later, when a few songs had played, and we remained dancing softly, that we heard a slight cough, and there behind us were Katie and Cook, all dolled up, yes even Cook, who didn't know what it meant to dress nice, had dressed nice.

"Mind if we join?" Katie asked, smiling.

"Katie, you came too?" Emily asked, voice disbelieving, smile even brighter, which I didn't think was possible.

"We always said we'd be together at Prom, Emsy. I meant it." And with that, Katie and Cook made their way to the make shift dance floor, and they started to sway softly under the dim light too, and the music was soft, and Emily's hands were playing a bit with my hair, and everything felt so right.

And no, Emily did not get to wear the dress she had always wanted. She wore her hospital gown instead. And no, Emily did not have her hair dolled up or her makeup done.

She looked gorgeous to me.

Absolutely fucking gorgeous.

There was faint pretty laughter and smiles so big they split faces, and there was punch (yes, there was punch, I had bought some).

Later that night, we lay on the floor that we had been dancing on, and that's when the box came out.

I walked over to it and brought it out, and Emily looked puzzled.

"What's that?" She asked, brow furrowing.

"Why don't you open it and find out?"

And so she did.

"Wha-wha-what? Naoms? Are these… how did you… how…?"

There were tears of joy in her eyes, and she looked through all of them, disbelief ever so present on her features.

"How did you?"

"I looked for so long, so fucking long. You have no idea. But I would do it again in a heartbeat."

"What is it?" Katie asked.

"All of the movies from the posters that were on my walls."

"What? But I thought you couldn't find them anywhere?"

"I couldn't."

Her smile was so big, it was blindingly beautiful. It was huge, and disbelieving, and full of love and shock, and it was amazing to see.

Truly amazing.

And all that hard work was worth it.

"I can't believe you did this!" She kissed me face, every single inch of it.

And she kissed me passionately, so fucking deeply.

"This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

It was most definitely worth it.

"So, should we watch one?" I asked.

"Yes!" She said, and Cook grabbed her computer for her, because I don't think she could have gotten up on her own.

And she popped in the movie about the man and the woman deeply in love.

And it was beautiful.

She was right all that time ago when she said it meant something more than all those other movies.

It was love. It really showed love.

I don't know how to tell you any other way. But it showed love.

And she was crying by the end of it, and so was Katie and I, and hell, I even saw Cook wipe a tear away, but I kept that to myself.

"You know what Naoms?" She said later that night.

"What?"

"You know how that couples was amazing in Night of Love?"

"Yeah…."

"I think we have them beat," she said proudly.

Well so do I, Emily Fitch.

So do I.

 **Was that any good?**

 **I read all the reviews again before I post a chapter in case I forgot to answer any questions, and I saw two.**

 **Emily's condition will face a decline soon, but I'm not sure when yet. I haven't decided when I should include it. If you have any ideas, please let me know.**

 **Also, to answer the question about other stories, I wrote a few that were shit, but I had one I liked enough, and it got to about 28,000 words. I haven't touched it for a while because I didn't think I was developing things between them very well, and it also dealt with some sensitive issues, and I wasn't sure if I was writing them well enough. The last thing I want to do is offend someone with a shitty portrayal of a serious subject. And yes, I do have an idea for a next story, but at the moment I would like to focus on this one. Don't worry though, I'm not going anywhere.**

 **Alright, so there that was.**

 **Let me know what you thought!**


	24. Chapter 24

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hey. How was your weekend?**

 **Okay, so it's a bit short, but I guess you guys are getting used to that. I'm just trying to figure out what should come next without it being too repetitive or boring or anything.**

 **Also, mynameislizzie wrote a comment about Skins Fire, (and a nice review, thank you by the way), but I mentioned this because I want to talk a bit about Skins Fire.**

 **There are not enough words to describe my hate for it. But it was like they wanted Jess to try writing, like when you give a child cheap crayons, so if they break, it doesn't matter. I feel like they gave her Naomily, and said, "Here, test out your writing," which turned out to be truly and utterly shit. And she broke the crayons, and we were supposed to accept that, because well, I'm not sure. Maybe because lesbians are usually given some sadistic ending in TV and movies. It's always the lesbian that dies. And we were supposed to be okay with it.**

 **But it's shit. It could have been some couple that no one cared about, or hell, better yet, it could have not happened at all, but instead they used a couple that was amazing and means a lot to a lot of people.**

 **And for that, I will never forgive them.**

 **Also, my condolences go out to those involved in the San Bernardino shooting, and also the Planned Parenthood shooting. I am sad that we live in a world where all these awful things happen, and I am truly sorry to anyone involved. I am sending my thoughts their way.**

 **On a lighter note, thank you to everyone once again. I loved reading your comments, and it always makes my day, and sometimes I really need that.**

 **Also, when you get to the part where it says "I took a deep breath, and walked out…" try playing this song: The First Daffodils by Bibio. Just play it until the song finishes. If you want. I jut thought it went along well.**

 **Okay, enough of this author's note!**

 **Chapter 24:**

They sent me to the school psychiatrist today. No one gets sent to the school psychiatrist.

To put this in perspective for you, I didn't even know that my school _has_ a school psychiatrist.

But I was sent to that there nonetheless.

Once again, to put it in perspective for you, it was basically a guidance counselor, but with more feelings and less grades.

The room was bland, and the man sat in a chair, notes in front of him, and for what was most definitely the first time in my life, I wished that I was in Mr. Dirken's English class.

The chair was comfortable, just like how this experience wasn't.

But he sat clicking his pen, rubbing his beard, and then he pushed up his glasses, coughed, and looked me in the eye.

"It's okay to be sad."

I knew that.

I already fucking knew that.

No wonder no one went to the school psychiatrist.

This guy is shit.

"About your girlfriend, you know. I understand that you must be in a difficult time, and really, I just want your thoughts, your honest thoughts. This is a safe zone."

"My honest thoughts," I repeated, not looking him in the eye, looking at a speck on the wall. A tiny speck among thousands.

And really, that's all I am. A tiny speck among _billions_.

"I think," I started, taking a deep breath. "I am… one person."

"Good continue," he prodded, but I wasn't really sure why that was good. My statement wasn't anything surprising.

"I am one person, out of… what, over seven billion? If I died, not that many people would notice."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"It is. And that's okay. I'm not… anything wonderful, really. One person, that's all. But she, well, she's different."

"She being Emily?"

"It's always Emily. She's… well… to put this lightly, everything. If I disappeared, in the gram scheme of things, it would not matter. If she disappeared-"

"And when you say disappear, do you mean die?"

"Yes. But like I was saying," I was annoyed at being cut off. "If she disappeared, in the grand scheme of things, I think the earth would go to complete and utter shit," I finished simply.

"Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"And why do you feel this way."

"Because I'm only stating what I know to be true in my heart. Without her… well, it's like sunrises… do you like sunrises?" I was asking the questions now.

"Well, I don't see them too often, but when I do, I find them to be incredibly beautiful and wonderful."

I leaned a bit forward in my chair, really looking him the eye for the first time.

"Well Emily Fitch is like the most beautiful sunrise you will ever see. And a person like her will never be found again. And if she disappears, or… dies, well, there are no more sunrises."

"Right…."

"The earth will have lost its beauty, at least in my eyes."

There wasn't a whole lot to say after that, because I didn't feel like talking anymore.

When I feel asleep that night, I dreamed about a world with no Emily Fitch.

I woke up drenched in sweat and panting from what was the worst nightmare I had ever had.

It was early/mid May, and everything was coming to a close.

James Fitch was not a man- well, boy- of many words that _mattered._

Sure, he spoke a lot, but it was mostly some perverted thing about some perverted subject, expecting a perverted answer and a perverted outcome.

He sat in a hospital chair on a Monday.

He was staring straight at his sister, and he had this expression on his face that broke my heart.

It was like he was just realizing something, _the_ something.

And he looked right at her like he was scared to go near her, his chair many feet away, as he stared at the pale, sick, beautiful being that is Emily Fitch.

His mouth was slightly open, and he just looked at her.

And I walked to where he sat, and I sat down next to him.

"She's dying," he said, and it wasn't really to me, and I'm not really sure if it was to himself, but I have a feeling it was.

"Yeah," I said. "She's dying."

It was hard to keep the emotion out of my voice.

No more Emily meant no more sunrises.

"She looks so… small."

And she did. She looked so small lying there.

And he sighed, it was sad, a sad sort of sound, his shoulder moving up and down, and he just stared hard at her.

I took out a book and read to her, she started to wake a bit, and she listened along, smiling and nodding, and James stayed in the chair watching her, listening along.

And I kissed her forehead when it was time to go, and I told her I would see her tomorrow even though she was already asleep, but I said it anyways, because we can't always explain the things we do, and sometimes they're illogical, but that doesn't stop them from feeling right.

"Come on," I said, and James followed me to my mum's car, and he got in the passenger seat.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

He just nodded.

"Let's go get some fucking food," I finalized, and I drove us to some fast food place, and told him not to tell his parents, because I knew how they- especially his dad- would react to me "poisoning their son with non-nutritional" crap.

I let him get anything he wanted, which proved to be a lot of shit food, and we sat at a small table in the food court of a mall, and he eat silently, and didn't say a lot of inappropriate things, and when he did, it didn't really seem like his heart was in it. I just ruffled his hair, years of being best mates with Cook did wonders to shock at hearing perverted things.

And when he was done, we walked around silently for a bit, and when we were done, I started to drive him home, and we stopped by some liquor store, and I bought him a candy bar and a porn magazine, despite my own objections going on within my mind about how they objectified women. But I flashed my fake ID and told him once again to keep those a secret from his parents, hoping that I was fixing something, even if I was using a porn magazine and a candy bar.

And he thanked me and he was smiling, and I knew it was only temporary, but it felt good to have helped him out.

To have done something.

Emily and I were watching one of the movies on Tuesday, he head tucked under my arm, her eyes wide, staring at the computer screen.

She laughed and she smiled, and she even shed a few tears, and I held her when she did, pretending like I wasn't doing the same thing.

I took a deep breath, and walked out of the hospital later that night, into the dark.

"Fuck!" I yelled into the night.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" You get the point. And if you don't, basically, I screamed out profanities and such into the night because the love of my life was dying.

I yelled until my throat was raw and scratchy and my voice was going hoarse, and then I got into the car, and I drove home, the passing lights flashing as I drove by, but it wasn't the same as it had been when I was with Emily, Cook, and Katie.

No, it was much different.

It was quiet in the car, it was dark, and I felt different, I didn't feel full, if that makes any sense. I cried a bit, I rubbed my eyes.

I wiped my nose, I shook my head, I told myself to stop crying.

I didn't stop crying.

I lied down in bed that night, and I looked up at the ceiling, and I so badly wanted Emily to be there, laughing with me, but she wasn't.

"Naomi."

I pulled the covers over my head.

"Naomi."

I pulled the covers tighter.

"Naomi, you're gonna be late," my mum said again.

It was the next morning and it was raining outside, cold and gloomy.

"How fitting," I thought.

"I don't care right now mum."

"Naomi, you have to go to school."

I pulled the covers down a bit.

"I'm sorry, but I'm simply lacking the motivation to leave my bed and go to school and pretend like it's all okay today. Tomorrow, I will, but just not today."

She kissed my forehead.

I stayed in bed.

I texted Cook, and told him to bring me my homework and shit, and he said he would, and he also texted me saying some gross stuff about how he would probably spend lunch with Katie shagging under the bleachers.

I left and went to see Emily later that day, because no matter what, I always wanted to see Emily.

I took a bike to the hospital, and rode it in the rain. It hit my back hard, and chilled me, but I rode through it anyways.

And when I reached the hospital, I was pretty wet, and my hair stuck to my neck, and I walked inside, wiping off my feet, knowing that ultimately, it wouldn't do much good.

She was asleep when I got there, and so I just took off my jacket, which was wet, and shook out my hair (it still clung to me even after I did that), and made sure my clothes weren't really wet, so that it wouldn't cause her to get a cold. I kicked off my shoes, and I lied down next to her, and wrapped her up in my arms, spooning her from behind.

I kissed her neck softly, and soon I drifted off, with the most precious thing I would ever hold, secure in my arms.

And I let everything outside this bed drift away as well.

And soon it was just us, just us in a bed, and that was it, the world around us had melted away, because all I knew for certain was that I was holding her in my arms.

And it was all I needed to know at that moment.

Because I was holding the girl I loved more than anything in my arms, and I couldn't be sad when I had something so amazing like that.

When I woke up, it was still raining, and she was still asleep, and I just looked at her.

The way she snored softly, and how her thinning body moved ever so slightly, her chest rising and falling, and the way her lips looked, and how I wanted to kiss them, how I always wanted to kiss them, and I would always want to.

Her machine beeped again and again, like it always did, and I looked at it for a second, the lines moving up and down and then I looked away.

Looking at the walls, the stack of books on her table, the stack of homework standing tall dauntingly, teasingly.

Everything was still, and my hair was still kinda wet, and I saw a nurse smiling at us, standing in the hallway, looking a little elderly, with soft, kind features.

"You're very good together, a very sweet couple. You can see the love so clearly."

And with that she was gone.

But I didn't really notice, because Emily was beginning to stir, and I kissed her neck softly, and whispered soft words into her ear, and wrapped her back up in my arms, and with that, we fell asleep again.

 **There we go.**

 **Also, just one quick note.**

 **I know how I want this story to end, and I won't tell you how yet, but just to let you know, I am not anything like Jess Brittain.**

 **Okay, so I hope you guys liked it.**

 **The next chapter will be up on Sunday.**

 **Let me know what you thought!**


	25. Chapter 25

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hey.**

 **This is probably the shortest chapter yet. I'm sorry about that. I think part of the reason I keep on writing short chapters is because this story is kinda coming to a close, and this is the first chapter story I've ever written, and it scares me to be coming to an end with it. What if I think of all these different things when it's over? What if I feel like I could have done it better? We still have quiet a few chapters left, but I have one particular scene in my head that will come near the end, and I know I'll be writing it soon, and I just don't want to end this anytime soon.**

 **Thanks again to everyone for all the support. I will never be ever to thank you guys enough. I mean that.**

 **It's currently raining here, and I love the rain, and it's very nice and soothing, but anyways, here we go!**

 **Chapter 25:**

"I hate it here Naomi."

I don't really know what to do when I hear this. I already knew the hospital was not exactly a five star hotel at some exotic, beautiful location. I already knew that she hated it.

But I couldn't change the fact that that is where she was currently lying.

I couldn't do anything about that.

"Ems, I know, I know, trust me I know. But I don't know what else to do."

I didn't know what else to do.

I meant it.

I rarely knew what I was doing. Ever. Some people had their whole lives planned ahead of them since they were in kindergarten. I didn't even know what I was gonna have for breakfast tomorrow.

But this time was different. This time I was utterly clueless at what I would do next. What I could do next.

So when I said I didn't know what else to do, I wasn't just talking about the hospital.

Emily was quiet for a bit.

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "maybe I should just leave this place."

"The hospital? You can't do that," I said like it was obvious, because it was. It was obvious.

Because she had to stay here.

Because she had to get better.

Because she had to.

"Naoms, I've been here for a while, and… I've tried treatments, and I've taken pills, and nothing is changing. I haven't gotten any better. Naoms, you and I both know it."

It was true.

But I couldn't just agree. I couldn't just accept it. How was I to do that?

Was I just supposed to accept this?

I can't.

"Emily, you have to stay here."

"But I don't want to! I can't stay here and just… die! I need to make the most of my time."

"But you have to stay here."

"I. Don't. Want. To." She painfully punctuated each word.

"Well then what happens next?" I had been standing against the wall during out conversation, and now I slowly slid down until I was sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to my chest.

"… I don't know."

I placed my head in my hands.

"… Neither do I."

And so we were sat there, her cross-legged on the bed, me curled up, sitting against the ball, and we were just staring at each other, lost at what we would do next.

What were we supposed to do?

Was there some kinda book that outlined this exactly?

 _How to Deal With Your Life Going to Complete and Utter Shit_

I looked at her for what was probably the millionth time in my life.

She looked sickly beautiful.

She was, and always will be, beautiful.

But she looked sick.

She just did.

"You're beautiful," I said finally, because it needed to be said.

She scoffed.

"I'm not."

"Yes you are. The most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

"Naoms-"

"You're like a goddess, you're so beautiful."

"Naoms, I'm not-"

"But you are! The most beautiful girl in the entire fucking world!"

"I think that's you."

"Well I think that's you."

And she laughed.

"Alright, space cadet," she said, using the nickname I hadn't heard in a while.

I smiled, and I stood up, emitting a grunt that sounded as unpleasant as it was to make.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and looked around the room, looking at the pictures that were all around the room, a lot of them of us, and the movie posters, and Carny, who sat loyally in the corner.

I walked over to her, and I hugged her softly.

We stayed like that for a bit.

And it was nice.

Mrs. Incart looked tired on the Tuesday morning during which I was sat down at one of the desks, looking at all the things that had ben carved in it over the years.

I sat at the back of the classroom, and I read all the different words.

"Mr. Jimingsonton sucks dick"

Charming.

"Trixie and Ben 4 Ever"

"Class of 1996"

"Fuck"

Mrs. Incart looked out the window. She looked a lot calmer than she had before.

I didn't realize it at first. What happened that day.

I took my pencil, and carved in something new to the desk:

"Emily and Naomi for all of eternity"

Mrs. Incart was quiet, and she made a twisting motion around her finger, like she was taking something off. There was no drink this morning. There was no makeup. There was no large jewelry.

And I still didn't realize what was happening.

And it was later in the class when I glanced up, and something bright caught my eye.

A ring.

It was laid on the table, and she was looking down at it.

And in one motion, she picked it up, and put it in the trash.

And I didn't realize it at the time, but that was the moment when Mrs. Incart took off the makeup, and she would leave it off. And she didn't have a drink with her, and she wouldn't be bringing any more.

That was the moment when she threw away her wedding ring.

And for the first time the whole year, she looked at our class, and gave us an actual smile. A genuine one.

"Turn to page 353 in your books," she said. It was the first time she would really teach us anything this year.

And it was the first time she was happy this year, and probably for a lot longer than that to be honest.

Cook sat at Uncle Keith's, drinking a beer when I got there.

"Naomio!" He bellowed, and flashed me his pearly yellow teeth.

"We're gonna need some tequila!" He shouted at no one in particular, and I sat down next to him.

"Cook, it's a Tuesday for fuck's sake!" I swatted at his arm, but I couldn't help but smile.

It was an odd thing to describe our friendship.

But I guess I'll simplify it like this:

It is and will always be the greatest friendship Cook or I will ever have.

To put it modestly.

And so I had a beer, and he had some tequila.

He had a lot of tequila.

He had too much tequila.

And I walked to the hospital, and for the first time in a while it wasn't raining, and I wasn't sure if that meant anything special.

I thought about.

I concluded a minute later that it didn't.

Emily was wide awake when I got there.

She had a large smile on her face, and it return, I smiled at the sight.

"Hey smiley girl."

"It's hard to not smile when I see you."

My heart soared.

"Aww. That's really fucking cheesy, but awww."

She laughed.

"I have an idea," I said finally, and she immediately looked intrigued.

"Tell me more."

"Well, not for now."

"Meanie."

"But soon, I promise."

It was Saturday when I made good on the promise.

It was really early that morning, and I walked into her room, and I gently woke her up.

"Emily. Ems. Honey, sweetie. Wake up Ems."

"Naoms." Her voice was full of sleep.

"I wanna show you something."

"Can it wait?"

"No. this can't wait."

And so she gently, slowly sat up, and I grabbed the wheelchair I had found, (and before you give me shit about just grabbing a wheelchair randomly from a hospital, I asked a nurse and she said, "Sure, but who the fuck are you, and why the hell are you here so early?") and helped her into it.

She put all her weight onto me as I set her down softly onto it, and then I pushed her.

Past the sleeping patients.

Past the nurses who gave us strange looks.

Into the elevator.

Up the floors.

Onto the roof.

And then I wheeled her into the spot. The spot that would be the best.

And I waited.

"Naoms, what are we waiting for?" She asked, her brow cutely furrowed.

"Just wait for it."

And I counted.

1

2

3

4

5

6…

And finally, it came.

The sun rose, beautifully, spectacularly.

The colors blended and filled the sky, but none of that even held a candle to the look on Emily's face as she watched it.

"This is beautiful," she said, mouth agape, face caught in disbelief.

"I've seen more beautiful," I said, looking right at her.

She looked back at me, tears welling in her eyes.

"So have I."

I leaned down and kissed her.

I could feel the sun on my face.

I could feel her arms around my neck.

I smiled so large, it hurt my face.

And when we pulled away, we leaned our foreheads together.

"Emily Fitch, you're all my sunrises."

 **I'm just one cheese machine. I know, I know.**

 **Okay, so the next chapter will be up on Sunday.**

 **How was it? I know this one was short, and probably kinda shit, and I'm sorry about that.**

 **Anyways.**

 **Let me know what you thought.**


	26. Chapter 26

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hello. How have you been?**

 **This is not another lackluster chapter. This one actually includes something more at the end!**

 **Once again, thank you all for the support. I mean it. This story would be no where without it.**

 **Should we start? I think this chapter is actually not too terrible. Maybe. Or maybe it's absolute dog shit. Probably the second one.**

 **Let's go!**

 **Chapter 26:**

It was June.

I felt like I should start off my telling you that.

And I had that funny June feeling. Where the school year is practically over, and it just feels strange knowing that pretty soon, you won't be seeing your teachers, or most of the people you came to know.

It just feels odd.

So we were taking our finals and shit of that caliber, things that had to be done and were a fucking nightmare.

Mum was sitting on the couch one rainy night when I got home from visiting Emily.

She was eating some gross looking concoction of food, well… I'm pretty sure if was food… it looked kind of edible.

"So, how's Emily?" She asked because there really wasn't anything more to ask.

"Emily's… Emily." I didn't really know how to say it. I didn't really know what _it_ was. I didn't really know what to say.

"And… are you okay?"

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

I laughed and shook my head. There was no humor in it.

"No."

"Oh honey." She hugged me.

My mum had always been an affectionate person, more so than I would have liked, especially in those huffy preteen stages, but she seemed to be even more affectionate recently.

Like people at a funeral.

"I'm so sorry. It's shit. It is. And I wish I could tell you otherwise, but this is life. It's messy and it's hard. But it can be so goddamn beautiful. And at only 18, you're learning just how strange life can be."

And I felt better. Not enough, obviously, but I couldn't deny that my mum always made me feel better.

I still wasn't okay.

Until Emily was no longer sick, and she was healthy, and everything was fine, then I would be okay.

And if that didn't happen.

Well, then I would never be okay again.

Cook took a long sip of his beer while we sat on his couch on the Saturday that was much too fucking sunny for my liking.

This weather needed to make up it's fucking mind.

"Do you think Katiekins and I'll last?" He continued looking at his TV.

"You know, college and just everything? Do you think we can?" He clarified.

He sounded kind of scared, intimidated.

Life was intimidating sometimes- that was another thing I was learning.

Sometimes it was even stupid.

"You love her?" I asked, but it wasn't really a question.

"So much it scares me sometimes."

"I think you guys will be okay." I took a long sip of my beer.

"Now hit play. Snakes on a Plane waits for no one."

"'I'm tired of all these motherfuckin' snakes on this motherfuckin' plane!'" He shouted the infamous line as I rolled my eyes.

And then it began.

About halfway through the movie, I found myself dozing off. And soon enough, I was asleep.

I woke up a little bit later, in a pile of beer and sweat.

Gross.

I was just glad I hadn't been wearing my jacket and fucked it up.

Cook was passed out next to me, beer stain already formed on the carpet.

Paddy was reading some comic book, unfazed at the two idiots and our inability to handle beer.

Although I guess years of watching his mother and her inability to handle alcohol has prepared him.

Or maybe she just has an inability to handle life.

But I left his house a bit later, and the whether was cool, and it pricked my skin.

It wasn't unpleasant. It was just _there._

Not the best, but not harsh.

I walked for a bit, and I found myself sitting at the same park bench where Emily had stolen my ice cream all that time ago.

I took a deep breath, and looked at all the empty space around me.

Beautiful.

It was, I couldn't deny the night that.

It was a beautiful night in a beautiful place and in many other occasions, I would have been smiling. I would have been happier.

I'd be happier if she was next to me.

I remember reading through that pamphlet Jenna had given me from months ago.

And I remember one of the first few lines.

"Don't let this consume you. It is sad, yes, but you cannot let it take control of your every being."

What a load of bullshit that is.

How am I supposed to not let it consume me?

I'll bet you a million dollars, (which I don't have) that the person who wrote that has never experienced it personally.

Maybe it's good advice, but it's impossible.

How am I supposed to act like person I love dying isn't consuming my whole being?

It is.

And I know that it's not a good thing, but I can't help it.

I'm human.

I can't act like it doesn't haunt me. Pain me.

Break me.

I took another deep breath.

What was I supposed to do?

I played cards with Emily again on Sunday.

And I know I shouldn't have, but I let her win.

It was just a stupid game, but I didn't know what to do. I just thought that it was the right thing to do.

"Good job!" I smiled, and we played another round.

And I lost that one again.

We played a board game.

And I lost that one too.

It was our second round when she stopped me.

"Stop. It isn't any fun when you do this Naoms."

"Do what?"

But I knew.

"When you let me win, it's just-" she coughed.

I waited patiently, handing her the water bottle, and patting her back softly.

"Don't act like I'm three. I don't want you to act like that. That's not you."

"Well what should I do?"

"Play like you always did. I'm dying Naoms, and I know it changes things, but it can't change everything."

I thought about that for a bit.

And I realized that she was right. But so was the pamphlet.

And I couldn't help myself.

Sure, things hadn't completely changed, but I couldn't just act like everything was fine, and like it was just like a few months ago.

I just couldn't.

Because a couple of months ago, in my naïve mind, there was no way Emily could die, and even still, I can't really completely fathom the idea.

Mortals die.

And a creature like Emily Fitch cannot be a mere mortal.

But she was.

And so death became a real thing to worry about.

I took out another board game.

I beat her this time.

And she smiled.

"Pencils down."

Mrs. Incart gives us a smile as we pass up tests, and she seems happy, and it's almost like she walked outside and breathed in the fresh air for the first time, and stopped to smell a rose, and like she is experiencing all these things for the first time.

Maybe it's happiness that's she's experiencing for the first time in a while, so long that she forgot she could still have it, and not just look back at old photos and wish for it to return.

It's here.

And she's basking in it, her wedding ring still gone, never coming back.

And some things are just better left that way.

I walked home from school a couple of hours later, and the whether was uninteresting, and so I will not describe it to you, and the sky was nothing noticeable either, so we can just skip any mention of it.

And some kids, maybe around the age of eight, were throwing a ball, and it hit my back by mistake, and they were apologizing profusely, and maybe before I would have told them to watch it, but instead I just smiled and shrugged it off because I remember what it was like to be that age, and because I didn't really see the point in being mad at them at this moment.

And it started to grow colder, but I didn't do anything, I didn't walk any faster.

I just didn't really mind.

I didn't really notice to be honest.

And my feet carried me the hospital, which was a bit strange since it must have been at least two miles from the school.

Rob Fitch would probably be proud at such a display of physical exercise.

Probably not.

But I found myself walking into the hospital, and things moved around me, and noises beeped and yelled and called and cried and everything, but I wasn't affected, and I walked into Emily's room.

And I smiled at the sight of my girlfriend.

"Sit," she said with a cute smile on her face, pausing to cough before shuffling to the side in her bed as I crawled in.

So I sat.

She cuddled up against me almost immediately, and sighed contently.

And I hoped she was, you know, content.

"Naomi," she said after a while, when my eyelids had started to close.

"Yeah?"

"I need to say something to you."

"Yeah?" I still wasn't completely awake.

She kissed me softly, bringing me into consciousness.

I deepened it, and I got lost in it. In her lips, in the way her hand rested on my neck, on how her hair felt so good in my hands.

And she pressed softly on my shoulders.

"Naomi," she said softly.

"Can it wait?" I asked, kissing her neck gently.

"No."

I pulled away and looked into those deep brown eyes I had lost myself in.

"I need you to hear some things."

"What's up?"

She looked serious.

"Listen, I don't know how much longer I have left, but we both know it's not as long as either of us would like, and I need you to hear them."

I looked at her, giving my full attention to her.

"We might not get all the years we hoped. We may only get a little bit longer," she started.

"Don't say that."

"It's true Naoms. I'm not saying we won't end up getting a lifetime together, but I'm just saying, that the chances have not recently been in our favor."

"Fuck the odds."

"But what I'm trying to say is this: we may not get all those years, but I'm so happy that we got the time we did. I am so fucking happy that I got to call you mine."

"Get," I corrected.

"Get to call you mine," she fixed. "I love you more than you'll ever know, and you are one of my favorite people, ever. I just, it's hard to explain any of these feelings, but I want you to know that as much as I would have loved a billion lifetimes with you, I am so grateful I got our time together, even if it was only a couple of months."

She reached out and touched the necklace that I wore, the one she got me, before touching her own, the one I had given her. Her hand moved to my heart, and rested there, feeling the way it beats for her, before taking my hand, and bringing it to her rapidly beating one.

"This is what you do to me, and I need you to remember all these things Naomi, because you are so special, and I don't think you see it yet, and I need you to know how lucky I am that I get you as my girlfriend."

We were both crying by this point.

"I love you," I said. And then I said it again. And again. And again. I said it until my mouth hurt from saying it so much. And after that I said it again.

Because I needed her to know that.

And even though I knew she did, I needed to say it again and again. I just needed to.

Katie and the rest of the Fitch family spent even more time than usual with Emily, and it was nice. And Cook came in, and some days he brought Paddy in, and I remember warning him beforehand.

"Mate, listen, I need you to know something before we go in," I said. Cook was already inside with Katie, and we stood outside the hospital, Paddy anxious to go in.

"Naomi!" He whined, and tried tugging on my hand, trying to bring me into the hospital.

"Mate, I need you to listen."

He looked at me with eyes like his brother's.

"Emily, my girlfriend, she's not well, you know. I know you know that, but it's not just like some stomach flu or some broken bone. She's really sick mate."

"She is?" He looked instantly older.

"Yeah," I whispered sadly. I looked down at the ground for a second before giving him my attention again.

"I need you to be prepared to see her. She is really, really amazing mate. She's funny, and she's smart, and she makes me feel like a better person, and-"

"Is she pretty?" He asked shyly.

"She's the most beautiful person in the whole wide world. And her smile… her smile is better than ice cream and comic books."

"Combined?!" He asked. His eyes widened.

"Combined," I confirmed.

"Woah! I have to meet her!" And he tugged on my hand and I held onto it, walking into her room.

Paddy stood in the doorway shyly.

"It's okay mate," I said, and pushed him forward softly.

He moved forward slowly, and then pulled himself onto Emily's bed, and sat cross-legged at the end.

"Hello," Emily said, smiling.

"Hi," Paddy said.

He gestured for me to come closer.

"You were right, she's really pretty," he whispered into my ear, a little too loudly.

Emily smiled even larger.

And for the rest of the day, we played board games, and watched TV, and ate food from the junk vending machine, which you would think would be a little better since this was a hospital after all.

And a couple of days later, I started to walk towards Emily's room, in the hospital once again. I held lilies in my hand, her favorite. I saw Cook and Katie there as well.

And they were being rushed out of the room by a nurse as a doctor scrambled about.

I started to walk faster and faster, until I was running, full on running towards her room.

Cook blocked me, holding onto my arms as Katie looked into the room, eyes wide, terrified.

"Let me through!" I screamed at him, throwing myself at him, trying to get through.

"Naomi! Naomi! Naomi wait!" He tried to hold me in a tight embrace as I tried to claw out of it.

"Emily!" I screamed, a raw sound erupting from deep within. "Emily!"

"She's going into a coma! We have to move quick!" I heard a doctor shouting, and they moved all around.

"Emily!" I screamed, lurching my body forward.

"Naomi! Naomi! She'll be okay!" Cook tried to shout, but I was too busy trying to shove my way out of his embrace.

The lilies were being crushed between us.

"We have to move quickly!" A nurse shouted.

"Emily!" I yelled, my throat burning, tears springing into my eyes.

"Emily!" I screamed.

Cook tried to hold onto me, but eventually I ripped myself out if it, just in time to move to the window.

The doctors and nurses were moving around frantically.

"She's gone into a coma!" A doctor shouted.

And as I watched this scene of true heartbreaking horror, I thought I heard some kind of cracking noise.

"Emily!" I yelled again, banging on the windows again and again, the door closed, cutting my off.

I hit them again.

"Emily!"

And as I watched this all happen, I could feel myself overloading, if that makes any sense.

But the lights got blurry, and things were dizzy, and soon enough, I felt myself falling backwards.

The last thought I had before I blacked out on the hospital floor was an epiphany. I knew what the cracking sound had been.

It had been the sound of my own heart breaking.

 **SHE'S STILL ALIVE I PROMISE. SHE IS STILL ALIVE.**

 **READ THIS NOTE FIRST. I NEED YOU TO READ THIS NOTE: Okay, so this is an important note. EMILY IS STILL ALIVE. I DID NOT JUST KILL HER OFF. I PROMISE. SHE WILL BE IN THERE, WAITING IN THE NEXT CHAPTER. DO NOT WORRY.**

 **Sorry, but I need to make sure you know.**

 **Also, I'm not sure if I will be able to have a new chapter up on Sunday, so there might be one on Saturday, but maybe not. I'm not sure yet, I won't have access to a computer for a bit. There will definitely be one up on January 3** **rd** **. I will try to do what I can to post one sooner, but I'm not sure if I will be able to yet. Is there any way I can upload from my phone? I'm really bad with technology.**

 **Anyways, happy holidays!**

 **And possibly happy New Year!**

 **Let me know what you thought!**


	27. Chapter 27

The Story of The Dying Girl

 **Hello!**

 **So this chapter will be kind of strange since I have never uploaded using my phone before. I'd like to thank marsupial1974 for helping me out with that. Also thanks to NegroAmigo for some ideas for some upcoming chapters.**

 **Thank you to everyone! I say it every time but I really do need you to know how it means the world to me.**

 **Also, KirbyCorps was very kind and shared a great quote with me, and I'd like to share it with you:**

 **"Nothing grows without the sun and that's why you leaving me in the dark scares me. You are my sun."**

 **Anyways, bring on chapter 27!**

 **Chapter 27:**

I woke up to a blur.

It was different.

Not the beautiful blur of the passing night lights that Emily once held in her eyes that night at the fair, all that time ago.

Her beautiful eyes.

No, these were different. Bright. Unpleasant. Stinging. Burning.

Blurred hospital lights.

I shut my eyes again.

What happened?

I felt like, well... To put it in the most eloquent way possible while still being accurate, shit.

What happened?

Everything hurt. My throat was sore, it felt raw. My chest felt like someone was sitting on it. It felt heavy. My head felt like someone had been bashing it with a sledgehammer repeatedly, and my eyes felt like someone had tried to gouge them out with a rusty spork.

What happened?

Emily.

As I tried to sit up, images flashed through mind.

Lilies.

Cook and Katie.

Katie crying.

Doctors moving, shouting.

Emily.

Emily.

Emily.

Emily in bed, going into a coma.

I flinched as I moved upwards, my eyes closing sharply, my hands moving to hold my head as I threw my body back onto the bed.

What the?

I was hooked up to a machine of my own, beeping.

My eyes opened again, and widened.

I was in one of those hospital gowns, the one where your butt caught an unpleasant, unnecessary breeze.

I did not need a breeze down there.

Emily.

Where's Emily?

"You were out for a while there Naomio." I heard a deep voice say.

Cook's voice.

I turned to my right and saw him sitting in one of the chairs, looking very uncomfortable.

Maybe it was because of the chair.

Maybe it was because of the whole situation.

"Emily." My voice came out strained and raw.

"Emily's still here."

Still in the hospital.

Still in this world.

Still mine.

But then again. She'll always be mine, whether she's in this world or not.

"Where is she?" Cook handed me water as I sat up again, slower.

"She's in her room," he said slowly.

I felt better. My head stopped hurting, and my eyes became used to the light.

But then I thought of Emily, in her room, in a coma, and I felt like I was hit by a bus.

"I need to go see her. I need to go see her." My voice became more panicked as I did too.

I need to see her. I need to tell her I love her for the millionth time. I need her here with me.

"Mate, I'm not sure that's such a good idea. You just woke up."

I sat up again, quickly, probably too quickly, but I didn't even notice the pains.

I unhooked myself from the beeping machine, which, let me tell you, was not easy, and hurt like a bitch, and was an overall terrible decision for my health if you think about it. But I needed to see her now.

Cook tried to press down on my shoulders gently.

"No, no, no! I need to see her now!" I said, getting louder, my voice still hurting a bit.

And with that I took off.

In just a gown that did not cover my backside too well.

But I ran anyways, ignoring the pains once again, knowing I probably shouldn't be doing this, but who ever does anything all that rational when they're in love?

And so I passed by patients who gave me strange looks and laughed, and nurses who called after me before just giving up, obviously busy with more important things than a desperate kid running through the hospital.

I could hear Cook running after me, but I was much too fast, and found myself panting as I stood by a room.

Her room.

And I looked through the window, and there she was, lying there, looking the smallest she had ever looked.

Machines beeped and sounded and I just stood there, not really sure what to do.

I was staring at the love of my life, watching as she lied there motionless.

I put my hands to the glass as I heard footsteps sounding off from behind me.

There was a deep sigh.

"I'm sorry," Cook said.

"It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault. The world's just a really fucked up place sometimes, and sometimes, the best of people are the ones that suffer," I said, and even to my own ears, my voice sounded broken.

"Can I go in?"

There was a doctor nearby, who looked at me, and maybe he should have said something about my gown, and maybe he should have told me to go back to where I had been, but I guess sometimes there are things that are more important than doing the things you would usually do.

This was one of them.

So he nodded, and with that I opened the door slightly, carefully, and pushed myself in.

I walked over to the chair and sat down, right by her bed.

And to tell you the truth I didn't know what to do. And she wouldn't answer any of the questions I asked her, and when I told her I loved her, all I got was the beeping machines.

"Emily," I said softly. I had been there for a bit now, and for the first time, I reached out and grabbed her hand.

It was cold.

It was so cold.

Like ice.

I choked up a bit.

Why was her hand so cold?

And the tears streamed down my face as I realized that she may never wake up.

I might never see her smile again, or hear her laugh. I might never get to kiss her, and to hold her when she's sad, and be the one that makes her happy.

There might never be a future with her.

And I guess maybe I wouldn't have a future then.

Because what's a world without Emily Fitch?

And the world can really be a cruel place, because how could it do this? How could it give me Emily, and show me what love is, only to try and take her away now?

It can't do that!

I won't let it!

With her I felt like I had a place in this world. Like I wasn't just the kid with the deadbeat dad, or the one who lived in a shabby place. The one who was kind of shy and quiet at times.

And I cried. It was silent, no wailing, just tears and heaving shoulders.

And I remember the song my mum would sing to me when I was little.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know dear, how much I love you

Please don't take my sunshine away," I sang out quietly, softly, with a broken and shaky voice as I lay my head down on her bed, still grasping on to her hand.

"Please don't take her from me." I don't know who I was asking. I think I was just asking the world.

And I just sat there and held her hand, and she didn't hold it back, and I placed a kiss on her forehead, but she didn't smile, and I tried again to talk to her, but she didn't respond.

I fell asleep in the chair.

I didn't leave the next day either, I just stayed on the chair by the bed, watching the monitor, talking to her, even though she didn't say anything back.

"I read this book recently, and I think you might like it."

Silence.

"Do you want me to read it to you?"

Silence.

"I'll read it to you."

Silence.

And I read the book but still there was no response, and I did everything I thought I could do, and she still didn't wake up.

And when I went to school, I'd rush to the hospital and tell her about my day, about how close graduation is, and how Cook did something that I found was funny, but she didn't laugh when I told her about it.

And it was hard to keep hope. It was hard because it felt like I was being rejected each time she didn't respond, like only more of my hope was flickering out.

But I wouldn't give up.

It was a Tuesday in June when operation C.O.W.I.T.H.A.M.A.G.P.A.I.H. was a go.

What's that? Oh sorry, I guess I forgot to explain it to you.

To put it simply.

Cups

Of

Water

In

The

Hallway

And

Marbles

And

Greased

Pigs

And

Intercom

Hacking

Otherwise known as the greatest senior prank of all time.

Cook and I had planned it out ages ago, but I had completely forgot about it. I had been more preoccupied lately with something much more important.

But Cook had gotten the plan and the senior class together to create the best senior prank.

Here was the plan:

First, Cook and I would hack onto the intercom, and hide. And then we would yell, "AND THE PIGS HAVE BEEN RELEASED!" which means three greased pigs with the numbers 1,2, and 4 would be released into the hall. And they would spend hours looking for the third pig, trying to maneuver around a hallway filled with cups of water and marbles.

Pretty great huh?

Well, it was, but all I could think about was how I wanted Emily to see it.

And so Cook and I snuck into a room, and hacking onto the intercom, we yelled in the best fake voices we could.

And with that, chaos.

The teachers and the principal all scrambled, tripping on marbles and spilling water all over the place.

The greatest part for me might have been when Mandy and Mr. Dirken ran into each other and couldn't get up as they scrambled on the marbles, trying to catch a greased pig with the number 4 on it.

What? I guess we "forgot" to let Mandy and her gang in on the prank.

Oh well.

And as I stood in the hall, laughing, I almost felt bad for enjoying this scene when Emily wouldn't get to.

She didn't get to see this and she never would.

And it would have been so much better if she was here with me, laughing and running, and everything, because everything is better with Emily.

That's a fact.

And when school ended that day (it ended early for obvious reasons) the first place I went was the hospital.

I sat down next to Emily.

"Oh you should havE seen it!" I laughed at the memory, but I grew grim when I remembered why she didn't see it.

"You would have-" I coughed, a lump forming in my throat, "You would have really liked it."

I gave her a sad smile, which she didn't see.

And I kissed the top of her head and got into her bed with her, and held her for hours, breathing in her scent, kissing her red hair.

"Oh Emily," I sighed sadly, tears threatening to spill out of my eyes.

And they did.

And I let them.

I kissed her cheek.

And I kissed her lips.

And still, I didn't get a response.

"I love you," I breathed out into a quiet room.

And it hurt me to know that she couldn't say it back.

But I said it anyways, because I'd like to think that she had heard me, and that she was trying to smile and say it back. And maybe she was.

That night I read article after article about comas.

And as I sat on my bed, laptop on my well... lap (guess that was kinda obvious) I felt like the room was too quiet.

It was too much like the hospital.

So I put my computer down, and I walked to a drawer, and I found the old Beach Fossils CD.

Another trace of Emily.

Everything had a trace of Emily.

The beanie on the floor, the one I had given her after her hair had started to fall out.

The laptop, the one I had spent so much time looking for the movies, the 15 we managed to watch in less than a week.

The necklace I wore, the one she gave to me, that I never took off.

The bed, where we had made love. Her soft skin in my hands. Her heavy breaths. How she invaded all my senses.

So I put the CD in, and I listened to it again and again, and when the words stopped making sense, I put in something else, the playlist we had danced to in the hospital in the impromptu (or should I say imPROMptu) prom. And I listened to it again and again as I neglected history homework.

I wouldn't be going to school tomorrow anyways. That place was a mess after the prank. They would need a day or two to recover.

When I went to the hospital the next day, things were the same. It was quiet. Too quiet.

I took off my army jacket and draped it over her body.

"I'm not sure if you get cold. You might be cold," I said, trying to explain my reasoning.

I grabbed her hand and sat down again.

"So uh, I read articles about people who could hear in comas, like they were half asleep and half awake. Is that what it's like with you?"

I was met with a deafening silence.

"Right, it's not like you can answer me. Sorry about that. I was being stupid. But I decided that maybe I'll just carry on doing all the things I've been doing, and maybe you'll get better. You have to, you know? Get better. There is no me without you."

And the truth to that last statement would have left any room in complete silence.

There really was no me without her.

"So maybe I'll tell you stories from when I was little. Those are always funny, right?"

My mind drew a blank.

"Okay, I got one," I said finally.

"When I was little, mum used to play all these old CDs, right? And she tells me that I used to dance to them in my diaper, and that my dad, he was still around then, would dance around with me. Funny huh?"

Nothing.

"Yeah, I agree, that wasn't really funny. Uh, I don't know."

I tried to think of more I could say, more I could do.

And so I told her stupid stories from Cook's and my childhood, and I read to her a bit.

And I did everything I thought would have made her smile if she could have.

And when I walked home that night, I realized that even though things had changed drastically, I still just wanted to make her smile.

As I lay in bed that night, I reached out for my army jacket, and I pulled out the paper she had given me long ago.

"You'll always be my chapter three."

There in her neat handwriting, I clutched it close to my heart, and I turned to my side, still holding it close as I let the darkness of sleep consume me.

Before I drifted off, I thought about how close I was holding it to my heart, and then I realized it wasn't my own heart anymore.

No, no, no.

Emily Fitch owned my heart.

And what a great thing that is.

 **Alrighty!**

 **I know this chapter sucked, and I'm sorry. Next chapter will be better, I hope.**

 **Next chapter will be up on Sunday!**

 **Let me know what you thought!**


	28. Chapter 28

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Wow! So good to see you! Haven't talked to you since last year!**

 **Get it?**

 **Funny, I know.**

 **Anyways, here's a short chapter, but I hope you guys enjoy it. It's kinda shitty, but I really wanted to get it up. I just came off a super delayed flight, and I'm super tired, and now I'm gonna go sleep.**

 **Thank you for all the support, it never ceases to amaze me how truly lucky I am.**

 **Also, like I said, I'm bad with technology, so I have another question. I'm not able to see reviews that happen after the 30** **th** **of December. I like to read reviews from other stories as well, and see if others feel the same as I do, but now it'll just say there are more reviews, and not show them. Any one have any ideas? Any one have the same problem? Or am I just kinda stupid and fucked something up? Please PM me if you know.**

 **Thanks!**

 **And let's get on with this show!**

 **Chapter 28:**

It had been a week since I sat on Emily's bed, telling her stories and asking her questions, never getting a response, but I guess that was unfair to ask.

But she hadn't woken up.

And it was breaking my heart.

Everyday I walked into the hospital, and everyday I walked into her room, and I sat on her bed, and I talked to her, and I put my jacket around her, and I kissed her, and nothing happened. I thought, I just thought that if I spoke a little louder, and if I read to her a little more, and if I kissed her a bit harder, then she would wake up, and the cancer would go away, and everyone would be happy.

But she didn't wake up, and the cancer was only more prominent, and no one seemed happy.

Well, no one who cared for Emily anyways.

Katie came in, and some days she would just sit there, crying silently, and other sometimes she just watched me, and sometimes she spoke a few sad words.

And nothing happened.

And I just didn't know what to do.

And in some way, it seemed like everyone was expecting me to know exactly that.

It seemed like they thought I had some answer, or some kind of plan, but in reality, I'm just a clueless kid who is watching everything fall apart before my very eyes, and I can't do anything to fix it.

So, I felt like I was five.

I held Emily's hand, probably a bit too tightly, and I begged her to come back to me.

"Please, Emily, you have to wake up. The doctors said you should have woken up three days ago. _Please._ " My voice caught on the last word.

A nurse came in, long hair and a few wrinkle on her forehead.

"Do you need anything?" She asked politely, and you could see the pity in her smile, it was one that said, "I have seen this before. I will see this again. And I am sorry."

I need her to be alright.

"No, I'm okay."

I wasn't okay, but I think she already knew that. I think that most people wouldn't be all right at this moment, if they were talking to the person they love, and they never responded.

I didn't think she was asking for me to tell her all my despairs. I think she could see them in my eyes.

"Emily. Please."

I've been very passive aggressive lately.

I know it's unfair for me to take my anger out like that, but I can't help it. I know, it's fucked up, it really is, but like I said before, I don't know whom else to be mad at.

Take the other day for example.

Ned Rungter ran by my in the halls, and by mistake, knocked one of my books down.

"Sorry!" He called over his shoulder, starting to walk over to me.

"Watch we're you're going next time," I snapped, and mumbled something like "dickhead" under my breath.

And I know it was mean, and I even had that pit of guilt in my stomach when I saw the way he shrunk a bit after, but I was angry at the world, and I couldn't yell at the world.

So Ned would have to do.

Mum finished the milk and didn't tell me.

Before it would be fine.

Now it was basically her calling me demon spawn and declaring war.

So yeah, there's that, _that_ being a lot of anger.

But also just a lot of sadness.

If I'm being honest, I'm just really sad.

There's no other way of putting it.

Songs sound different. Sadder and gloomier and they all seem to sing of heartbreak and despair.

The shows on TV all seem pointless and stupid, and I guess they always were, but even my favorite ones fail to spark a smile out of me.

The sky always seemed gloomy, and the birds that usually sang pleasant melodies made me want to claw my ears out.

Nothing really seemed to matter.

Not school, not all those stupid kinda friends that I had spent all that time making, not the books I should be reading, not the bands I loved, or the graduation coming up.

And as it became two weeks of Emily in a coma, I lost even more motivation to do all the things I had wanted to.

Nothing could really excite me.

Because sure, all the things I mentioned above are great, but what did they matter if there was no Emily?

What mattered at all if there was no Emily?

I know that maybe that sounds extreme, but to me it was true. Nothing really seemed to matter without that redhead by my side.

I made my way to the hospital cafeteria.

And I bought food, crap hospital food, and I sat at a small table, covered in mysterious stains.

"Hello."

I look up and see a man, maybe 40, standing awkwardly by the table.

"Mind if I take a seat?"

"Sure," I say awkwardly, not really sure what to do.

And so he sits down, and starts eating, all while I'm just staring at him, not entirely sure what it going on.

"I've seen you around, you know. My wife is like your girlfriend. She's been in a coma for a while now," he said quietly.

"Oh."

And I felt infinitely sadder now.

"I just keep thinking she'll wake up, you know?"

And I see the passing nurses look down at him with pity, sympathy.

They know something he won't acknowledge.

"How long has she, you know? If you don't mind me asking."

"A year. She'll wake up soon."

His eyes were like how Mrs. Incart's once were, begging, pleading with me to agree.

And I wondered if that's how I am. If that's how my eyes look, and if that's how the nurses look at me.

"Yeah, she'll wake up soon," I agree, swallowing a lump in my throat. And I know he doesn't believe me. But I also know that's what he needed to hear.

And I guess that was enough for him today, because he went back to eating.

"Please. Emily. Please. I need you. Please!" I was once again in her room, gripping onto her hand, and I was crying. She didn't grip my hand back.

I had been there, begging with her for an hour.

And nothing happened.

"Please."

She didn't move.

And now I was sobbing.

"Please. Please. _Please. I love you. I need you._ "

The last words came out choked and mumbled.

And I sobbed.

Because what else was I supposed to do?

She wouldn't be all right would she?

I had denied it for so long, but this was it wasn't it?

This was how our story ends.

And if you had told me a few months ago when I was sitting in a bumper car at the fair, that this is how it would end, I would tell you to fuck off.

And now, it's the truth. And I have to accept that don't I?

Well how the _fuck_ am I supposed to accept that?

No grip from her hand.

What was I supposed to do?

Am I gonna end up like that guy, waiting and waiting for the day that will never come?

The day when I'll be happy again, and she wakes up.

This was it, wasn't it?

And while I was sobbing my eyes out, coming to the most horrible realization I had ever come to, something miraculous happened.

I felt a grip from her hand.

"Naomi," her voice, her _beautifu_ l voice, her _melodious_ voice, her _fucking_ voice, croaked out weakly.

And I almost fainted right on the spot.

She was back.

The love of my life was back.

 **Boom!**

 **Next chapter will be up on Sunday!**

 **Let me know what you thought!**


	29. Chapter 29

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hey! It's me!**

 **So, here's another really short chapter, I'm sorry. I can feel this story coming to an end, and it's making me sad.**

 **Also, the review problem went back to normal after a couple of days, so yay!**

 **Speaking of reviews, (see what I did there?) thanks for all the support! This whole entire story wouldn't even be happening without all of you.**

 **So, shall we start? Also, shall is a fun word. Shall.**

 **Chapter 29:**

I sat there on the bed, looking at her.

I was daring her to disappear, to leave me again.

And she just laid there, eyes open, drinking the water a nurse had rushed in and given her.

Her eyes.

I hadn't seen them in what felt like ages.

They were more beautiful than I remembered.

I held her hand tightly, maybe too tightly, but it didn't matter because she gripped mine back, and she smiled as she did so, and it almost seemed too good to be true. Like came morning I would wake up and I would be in my bed, and she wouldn't be awake.

And so I pinched myself.

And she was still there.

I slapped myself.

She was still there, her hand still gripping mine.

"Naomi? What are you doing?"

I raised my right foot and brought it down, hard, against my left shin.

"Naomi?"

"Wake up. Don't let yourself fall for this dream," I whispered sharply to myself.

And so I stood up and I walked over to the wall, and banged my head.

Now, I know you must be thinking, "Wow, this girl is a loon," but you have to understand that sometimes, things are just too good to believe. So at the time, I thought my mind was lying to myself to make me happy, giving me a dream, telling me she was okay, telling me the love of my life was here.

We do that to ourselves, don't we? Lie because we think that sometimes it would make us happier than our own realities.

But at this moment, I didn't need some comforting lie, and so I kicked the wall this time, and then I punched it, and then I just ran into it.

But there she laid, eyes open, mouth slightly open, confusion with my actions so clearly etched on her lovely face.

"Naoms?" She asked in a croaky voice, and it was so lovely I could have died.

I hadn't heard her say my name in so long.

Too long.

I had almost started to forget.

"Come here."

And so I did, timidly approaching her like some scolded schoolchild.

And she grabbed the back of my neck, softly, and pulled me into her.

She kissed me.

It was gentle, and it was sweet, and when she let go, she cupped my face in her hands, her beautiful, beautiful hands.

"Naoms."

I nodded.

"It's okay. I'm not going anywhere."

I kissed her again.

She responded.

And again.

She responded.

And I think it was during the fourth of fifth kiss that we started to cry, and I could feel tears on my lips, but I kissed her anyways, and she responded each time. She kept on kissing me, and the realization that she was back, and wouldn't be going away, at least not now, hit me.

"Please don't leave again," I whispered into her ear as she held me tight against her.

"Never. I will never leave. I would have stayed if I could have, but sweetie, I couldn't. But now it's okay. And now I'm here and I don't plan on going anywhere.

"Good, because I won't let you."

* * *

It was a Friday and I was graduating in a week.

I should have been over the moon about that, talking about the end of the year parties and all the classes I won't have to go to again and all the people I won't have to see again.

But that seemed so small in comparison to having Emily back.

She was still sick, I can't tell you that she was just fine like I would have liked to

believe me, I would have if I could have, but I remember telling you once that I didn't

want to lie, and I still mean it. You deserve better than that.

So she still lied in a hospital bed, watching a white wall, but things seemed different, like now things had to get better. She had been in a coma, still alive, and I thought I would die without her, so how the hell would I survive without her? How would Katie and the rest of her family?

And so it just wasn't an option.

Not that it ever was.

And so I waited, and things in a sense, returned to normal, or at least to what our normal was.

A hospital and an IV. Nurses and doctors that rushed around with panicked looks, concealed in tired eyes. Coughing and pills.

No, definitely not normal.

But you know what?

Fuck normal.

* * *

Cook sat down, hunched over in Keith's pub when I found him on Friday.

A beer was placed in front of me as I glanced over at Cook. He was shrunken down in the booth, scared, and it reminded me of when he was around his mum.

"What's your problem?" I asked after a bit, getting tired of all this moodiness and somberness around the table. It felt very sober, despite the fact that I was on my second beer and Cook on his god knows how many.

"I'm gonna break up with Katie."

I did an actual spit-take. Like one of those cheesy sitcom moment spit-takes.

"What the fuck are you on about?"

"It's not gonna work out. It can't. She'll go to one college, and I'll go to the other. I'll go mad. Thinking 'bout what she's doing, who she's with, why the fuck I'm not there."

He kept his eyes steady, looking forward at some cracked photo hanging desperately from a nail on a wall.

"Are you joking?"

He shook his head.

"You can't be serious. You love her!"

"Yeah, but I can't do that shit! It'll break my goddamn heart."

I scoffed.

"Whatever, man."

I couldn't believe he was doing this. I stood up huffily.

"Where are you going Naomio?" He was sober, but I wasn't surprised. His tolerance for vast quantities of alcohol was a medical mystery

"You're being an idiot."

"Well what am I supposed to do?!"

"You're not even gonna try!"

"How can I?! How can you expect me to?!"

"Get over yourself! For fuck's sake man! You say it all the time! 'Nobody gives a shit 'bout me. Only you and Paddy, mate.' Well guess what?! She gives a shit! She gives _all_ the shits. And you're gonna throw it away because you're scared! We're all scared! Everyone is fucking terrified! Life is fucking _scary,_ man! But you're gonna give up Katie because of some miles?! That's just stupid mate, even for you."

And with that, I just stood there, looking at him.

He stood up.

"Well, maybe I _am_ scared! Fine! But can you blame me?! If we break up, then what?! I'll be fucking heartbroken!"

"So you get your heartbroken. I'd rather have a broken heart than a heart filled with regrets."

He looked at me with far away eyes.

"So that's it then. I'm just supposed to deal with distance?"

"Do you love her?"

"Of course."

"Then you deal with the distance. End of."

He took another sip of his beer.

"It can't be that bad, right?" He asked finally.

"It's gonna suck."

"Cheers."

"But it'll be worth it. I promise."

* * *

Cook didn't break up with Katie. But there was that unhidden but not mentioned desperation in the air. Not just between them.

Between everyone.

Things were ending.

And it felt exactly like the end of a great book or TV show or something.

Like a finish.

It was very sad for some reason, but then I looked at the sleeping girl in the hospital bed, and the way she was gently sleeping.

And I thought, "How could I possibly be sad?"

 **Sappy? Check!**

 **Hope you guys like it, I know some of you guys have probably lost interest by now, and I'm sorry if anything isn't very good recently.**

 **Next chapter will be up on Sunday. It'll be one of the last….**

 **I'm thinking about starting a new story soon. I'm torn between two ideas currently.**

 **Anyways…**

 **Let me know what you thought!**


	30. Chapter 30

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hello! Sorry this is short and crap.**

 **Thanks so much** for **all the support. It means more to me than you'll ever truly know.**

 **I hope this doesn't sound whiney or anything, but I just want to ask if people are still really enjoying this. Lately I feel like it hasn't been the best almost like I'm dragging it out because I'm afraid to end it. So is anyone still into it, or is it getting kinda repetitive? I think there's only maybe 2 of 3 chapters left in this story.**

 **Anyways, let's do this thing!**

 **Chapter 30:**

Being in a coma is an odd thing that I cannot even begin to really explain, but I guess I could try.

I guess I could try and I could explain it to you maybe a million times and you would never truly grasp it.

And it's nothing against you or any part of who you are and what makes up your being, I'm sure you're great, but it's just something that is hard to tell you about.

But I'll give it a shot anyways.

I'll start with this:

I could hear everything.

All the voices of all the people.

I could hear them.

When my dad cried and told me that I was his little girl- I heard that.

When Katie came in and told me that she didn't think she would be able to live if I didn't- I heard that too.

And every time Naomi said I love you- I heard.

And in my mind, I was responding.

And so I would tell my dad that he means the world to me, and I would tell Katie that she has so many great things ahead of her. And every time Naomi said I love you, every single time, I said it back.

But no one could hear me.

And another weird thing were the places I envisioned. When a stranger talked to me, I thought of some strange place where I felt scared. And when someone I knew was talking, I thought of the most beautiful places that made me feel safe.

Places with the most beautiful sunrises.

Naomi watched me with careful eyes.

She looked at me, eyes remaining on my small, weak body, reminding me of Dodo.

Dodo, was, for those of you who are now wondering what the hell I'm talking about, the best stuffed giraffe a little girl could have.

And I took care of her better than I took care of myself.

Her hair down her neck perfectly brushed and pushed back in the perfect way, and her bead eyes always looking polished.

I cared for her more than Katie and James had for all toys combined.

And now Naomi sits on the end of my bed, watching me carefully, just I did Dodo all those years ago.

She leaned over and tucked a rebel strand of hair back behind my ear, kissing my nose.

"How you feeling?" She asked, still playing with me hair softly as I leaned back and moaned softly at the gentle sensation.

"Better."

"That's good. That's good. Better is good. Better is-"

"Better is better."

A laugh.

"I guess you could say that."

She continued stroking my hair delicately.

A kiss here on the lips there, a kiss on the forehead there, and gentle murmurings of "I love you" and "I missed you" there.

It was lovely.

It really was.

Because for a moment in time it felt like everything was alright.

And when later that night she kissed my head and hugged me tight, the feeling left me.

Because I was in a dark room, and there were lights from streets outside, and lights from all the cars with all the people going to all the places that people go when they aren't sitting alone in a hospital room.

It was quiet.

Hospitals get quiet at night, or at least the cancer ward did.

The doctors moved around quietly, and the nurses talked quietly, and the patients were quiet when they slept, but most of them were quiet wen they were awake too. And they were quiet.

The people were quiet when they sat there, and when they slept, and when they took that final breath of air, the one that always killed me to think about.

And it hurts my heart to think about all the people that I went to sleep having seen a moment before, and all the times then that I didn't realize that was the last time I would ever see them.

So I didn't think about it, because it was easier not to.

I'll tell you the reason people don't like hospitals:

It is a place plagued with death.

I mean that in the least dark way I could say it, but death is a dark thing, and often unfair to the point where it's just cruel.

People don't like death.

And a hospital always seems to have the whispers of mortality lurking.

Not to say that's the only thing going on at hospitals. Not to say that no one ever gets better, because many do.

But like I said, life and death were never about playing a fair game.

I fell asleep an hour later.

It was still quiet.

Naomi sat in my bed.

"Graduation is next week."

"Is it?" I was tired. My mind, my body.

"Yeah." Said softly. Always said softly. Everything was said softly.

I leaned into her, and breathed her scent.

It was pleasant and sweet and it made me happy for all those unexplainable reasons that can only be answered with: it's love.

"My little graduate." I coughed.

"Who are you calling little, short fry?"

I laughed.

I coughed.

I laughed some more.

And so I coughed some more.

"You."

"Well I think you might need to rethink that statement. How tall are you, 2 foot 7?"

"Shut up." I pushed her softly.

"Sorry, you're right. You've grown. 2 foot 8 now, isn't it? It must be! I knew you seemed taller!"

I stuck my tongue out at her.

"I've always loved your tongue. It's done some pretty amazing things."

"Naomi!"

"Well it's quiet a wonderful piece of you if I'm being honest."

"What else is wonderful about me?" I teased.

"Where to start? Your smile, your laugh, your whole being..."

"What a softie, you are!"

"Only with you."

And I knew the truth to that statement.

And I knew how special she was. How truly special Naomi is. The way she acts and the way she treats me.

And I could spend the rest of my life trying to convince her of all these things, and how much I love her, how much I truly and utterly love her.

I kissed her softly, but passionately.

And it was felt in every fiber of my being, down to the tips of my toes.

So we kissed again.

And again.

And some more, until our lips were swollen.

And we continued to kiss after that.

A cough.

This time not from me.

Coming from the doorway, my doctor stood awkwardly, looking at some notes, obviously waiting for us to stop.

"Terribly sorry to interrupt, but, I happen to have some news you may want to hear."

News was almost never good.

He walked up to my bed and say himself down in a chair nearby.

"So, how bad is it?" I asked. No need in wasting time and having all that false hope.

"Actually, Miss Fitch, you may be surprised to hear that this news," he shook the file with the notes, "is actually rather amazing."

"Carry on..." Naomi said and furrowed her eyebrows.

"Well the remarkable thing is, that despite all the odds, Miss Fitch, has, well, you see..."

"Cut to the bloody chase," Naomi said, obviously annoyed with this dragging out.

This isn't a bloody day time soap opera.

"The remarkable thing is that Miss Fitch is starting to get better."

There we have it!

Next chapter will be up on Sunday!

Let me know what you thought!


	31. Chapter 31

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **Hey! How have you been?**

 **So, probably only one chapter and then an epilogue after this one.**

 **It's actually made me sad to think about, and I'm sure I'll include some long ass author's note at the end.**

 **Thank you for the continued support! Those of you who continue to read and review and all that have really just made my school year so much better, really.**

 **I also wanted to mention the passing of Glenn Frey, Alan Rickman, and David Bowie. I know I'm a bit late, but I just wanted to say that they had a large impact in my life, especially David Bowie, and they will be greatly missed.**

 **Here you go.**

 **Chapter 31:**

It was the very last week of school.

I should have been happy with that, laughing and burning old papers, and smiling like crazy the whole time, but I couldn't when I thought more about it.

It was so very final, you know?

And it was strange because it felt like my whole life was me rushing to get here, get right here, to the moment when I was becoming a grown up, and now I just want to go back.

I want to go back to summer days when I was 10 with Cook, and that fair with Emily, and all the times I went camping with my parents.

I had rushed to get here, pretending to be a grown up since I was a preteen, and now that I'm here, I'm not sure how much I'm excited for it.

But I guess that's life.

Emily had started to get better. I don't mean rapidly and immediately, one day dying, one day not. But I mean slowly, the way most things happen.

She seemed to have more energy at times, and I couldn't stop wanting to hug her, and kiss her all over.

And I didn't stop myself most of the times.

Kisses on her forehead and kisses on her cheeks. Kisses on her lips (those were my favorite).

I kissed her until my lips ached and begged me to stop, and I kissed her until tears streamed down my face because she was safe.

Her health would improve, and so would the mood, and she would be fine again.

It felt so _fucking_ good.

I could cry every second of every minute of every day of every, well you get the point, because I was so fucking happy when it came to her.

I sat watching her sleep like some kind of weirdo.

Or just a person in love.

I think those two might just be the same.

I saw as Emily started to slowly wake, eyes fluttering open gently, arms moving a bit.

"Shhh…"

"Naomi?" Her sleepy voice could have melted anyone's heart.

"Just go back to sleep, darling."

"Naomi?"

"Shhh… you need rest."

She moved around a bit, like she was actually trying to fight sleep off.

"I'm awake, I'm… awake," she said, but her tone told me otherwise.

I kissed her forehead gently.

"Ems, it's okay. I'll still be here when you wake up."

"Promise?" She was already half asleep by now.

"Promise."

And with that her head hit the pillow and she was a slumbering picture of absolute beauty.

I could have lost her.

I really could have.

I could have lost this girl, sleeping before me. And our story would have ended right there.

The end, printed in bold letters, and I would have been lost.

I would have lost and never found, wondering around like an empty shell of a human, hollow and numb.

I watched as her chest rose and fell, and with anyone else I would have said, "cool, that just means they're alive…." But with her all I can see is how beautiful it is. All her actions are beautiful.

How have I not spent my entire life with her?

How have I could have gone all these years without her by my side? How has it not occurred to me that this was the girl for me?

It doesn't seem possible that this girl was right in front of my eyes, and yet, she was always Emily Fitch- a friend, and not Emily Fitch- girl I'm madly in love with.

How could that possibly be?

My thoughts are interrupted by a slight snore drifting from her mouth.

That's my girl.

That's my girl, on her hospital bed, with the IV hooked up to her.

That's her.

Mr. Dirken drank quietly from his coffee cup, and for once it seemed like her didn't have anything to say.

He cleared his throat after a bit.

"How many of you have Mrs. Incart?" He asked finally.

He smoothed down his thinning hair with his hands, and straightened his tie a bit.

A few of us looked around and finally raised our hands.

"Very well, um. Well, you see… do you think she likes roses?"

And for the first time, I saw vulnerability in his eyes, and the way he scratched his goatee, and maybe he wasn't the cold-hearted man who yelled at us about grammar.

"Roses? Why does it matter?" Some kid asked.

"Well, um, you see, I would like to… well, she's quiet a beautiful woman isn't she?" He said is almost shyly, like he had made an observation and he wasn't sure if the others had made the same one, but there was a finality to his tone that made it seem like a fact: this woman was beautiful in his eyes.

And he wanted to take her on a date.

And maybe he should.

She deserved someone nice, and maybe he could be that someone, that guy who would treat her right.

Not that she needed to have someone. But I think she'd quite like to have someone who loves her, and only her in that way.

So I cleared my throat in return.

"I remember her saying something about violets, sir."

"Violets?" He reached for a pen, casually writing this down.

"Yes sir."

And for the first time ever, he gave me a large smile.

"Violets it is," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

The next day there was a vase of violets on Mrs. Incart's desk, and a large smile on her face.

"Does Mr. Dirken like steak? Do any of you know? Because I know this nice place that has great steaks…." She trailed off uncertainly, staring back at the flowers happily.

"I believe that he mentioned a great love for steak," I said, and watched her smile bloom like the flowers.

The clock's hands were waving wildly, passing quickly, but somehow much too slow.

It always was that way when you were trying to count down the time left.

30 seconds.

The last day of school, all that would be left was graduation and then we were done.

22 seconds.

And I couldn't believe that it was finally happening.

The school year was really over.

13 seconds.

I looked over to Cook, who kept his eyes on the clock, not wavering, but reached out with right hand and took my left one, gripping it tightly.

5 seconds.

4 seconds.

3 seconds.

2 seconds.

1 second.

"No more school!" Someone shouted.

And the kids went wild, throwing up papers as Cook grabbed a hold of me, wrapping me in a tight embrace while the chaos around us started.

Yelling and chanting and moving and shaking and beautiful, well deserved chaos.

And we stood there hugging each other, and things finally felt final.

Graduation later today and we were done.

"I love you, Naomi," he said, and as he did, I thought about all the times he had said it before.

"I love you too, James," I said in return, and I felt little again, and I didn't try to fight the feeling.

And a bit later, we found Katie, standing in the halls, a smile on her face.

"Are you two losers done? Let's go."

I didn't have to ask her where we were going- I already knew.

The walk to the hospital was loud at first, laughing and smiling and chanting, and by the end, it had sloped into a kind of peaceful quiet.

And we walked into her room, and she was awake, waiting with that beautiful smile.

"So, just graduation tonight then?" Emily asked, even though she already knew.

"And then it's over."

She gave me a beautiful smile.

And all I could do was smile back.

 **Ehh?**

 **Yes, no? Maybe so?**

 **So, next chapter will be up on… you guessed it, Sunday! Probably. Maybe not. I might wanna take a bit more time to write it since it's one of the last chapters. So probably Sunday, but maybe not.**

 **On a different note, I'm working on a new story, so the first chapter of that will be posted soon. If you guys like it, I'll continue. If it sucks and it makes you wish you didn't have eyes so you didn't read it, we'll leave it alone….**

 **Anyways, I'm gonna go to sleep.**

 **Night.**

 **And also, let me know what you thought!**

 **But seriously, good night.**


	32. Chapter 32

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **This is long and boring, so I understand if you just want to skip to the story.**

 **I'll start with apologies and excuses.**

 **I'm sorry I've left this for so long. I truly am. I feel really bad, like somehow I've taken you guys for granted, leaving the story so long and not bothering to even update or anything.**

 **And I don't have great reasons for doing so.**

 **School and work take up time, as they always do, but part of it also has to do with me being afraid of:**

 **The end. I'm not great with change, and I'm so used to this story and how great it feels to write it, that I was scared- am scared- to end it.**

 **Of it not living up to what it should be. And I still feel that way. It's the ending, it needs to be something special. I still feel as though its lacking, but I've come to realize that no matter how I write it, a part of me will always feel that way.**

 **I'm sorry.**

 **And now the thanks.**

 **Thank you for so much.**

 **Thank you for supporting my new one shot, "Emily with Age." I wrote it in a couple of hours, and despite thinking it was shitty, I posted it anyways, and you guys were supportive and kind.**

 **Thank you for not being rude about my absence.**

 **And thank you for supporting this story, because without you this story would remain stagnant.**

 **And a quick note:**

 **Please check out the story Les Neuf Cercles! It's amazing and written by a great author names 10CentPistol! It's fantastic and I hope you guys check it out!**

 **So here is the much overdue story.**

 **It's still shitty and not well written in my opinion, but what else has changed.**

 **Chapter 32:**

I sat down in the cheap plastic chair, and looked at the people all around me.

All the familiar, yet distant faces. Both friends and strangers all at once.

These were the people that I grew up with, but I guess I didn't really know any of them.

I didn't know what was important in Sadie Hickinson's life, and I didn't know what college Warren Yacovawitz had really wanted to go to.

I didn't know anything about these people, the more I thought about it. And I had once spent my days weaving between them, going from group to group, being in the background.

How did I do that?

How did I spend time making inconsequential conversation with people who I don't know?

Why did I waste so much time? Why did I spend all this time, trying to fit in, when I could have just been spending time with Cook? And now I won't be able to see him as much. And I can never get that time back.

And why did I spend all this time trying to hide and going on shitty dates with girls I'll never see again, when Emily was there with her heart warming smile and beautiful eyes. Why?

I can't change the past. But I guess the truth is that I've come to realize what, or I guess who, really makes me happy. And it seems like I wasted all this time doing all these things that weren't important with people who weren't important in my life. And in that time, I could have been Emily's first kiss, and maybe I could have created even more memories with Cook that I will look back on when my hair is no longer blonde and I am full of wrinkles and wisdom.

I just wish I had seen what's important.

Maybe then I could have been there a bit more for my mum when she remembered those summer nights when her bed wasn't empty, and she had a man who would hold her close and tell her that he loved her, even though those words would eventually become lies as time went on and as everything decayed.

And maybe I could have really gotten to know who my teachers were, and how maybe they're just humans too. Sad humans in want of something more.

But I guess I shouldn't waste anymore time regretting the things I did.

So I'm sitting in this plastic chair, cap and gown and all that jazz, and the principal is saying something nice, I can tell by the way the parents nod.

And I look at my mum is sitting. I can see Paddy fiddling with his tie that's a bit too tight, and how my mum gingerly loosens it for him, and how he's holding her hand with all the tenderness of a mother and child.

And I can see Emily's family, parents and grandparents and her brother and I don't miss the way Jenna is laughing about something with my mum, and I wonder what they're talking about, but I guess that doesn't matter. I guess what matters is the way that Jenna squeezes my mum's other hand like a best friend would and how Rob reaches across several bodies to pat Paddy's leg like a father might.

And then the names start.

"Pat Abrosiaromson"

"Gerald Arandianma"

And the list goes on and on.

And finally they get to the C's.

"Naomi Campbell"

The applause is nice, but what catches my attention is Cook shouting out.

"Blondie! Go on man! Get that fuc-reaking diploma!"

And how Paddy and mum and Katie and the rest of Fitchs stand up as well, yelling and whistling.

And I walk slowly to the stage, and this is the moment I worked so hard for, and that's when I see it.

Emily sitting in a chair next to Paddy, a nurse next to her, watching her like a hawk.

But that last part doesn't matter because Emily's sitting in a chair next to Paddy.

And that means she's here.

And she catches my eye, and she gives me a wink that makes me feel like I'm under the monkey bars again, just having fallen as that little girl with the bow asks me if I'm okay.

And so I fid myself walking on a cloud, and I shake a hand and I grab a paper and I here a picture being taken, but all I can focus on is the way she looks at me like no one else has ever existed in this world.

Invading all my senses, overwhelming me completely. There she is.

And the way she smiles at me is like she's hit me over the head with just how much I can love another human being.

And I feel like I did all those times, all those days, all those years, before Emily and I were dating.

Like when I spent half of my time in class during the seventh grade staring at her, and the way she bat her eyelashes and the way she looked when she was in deep thought.

Or how I felt when it was the tenth grade dance, and she sat alone on a chair, as Katie danced with someone who's name escapes me now. And how she swung her legs back and fourth, trying to look like she was okay with just sitting there, like she was okay with being the twin that just sat there.

And how she made eye contact with me that night, as I stood there with Cook at a punch bowl, as he made some remark about spiking it to "give it a kick and make some memories." And how I felt like a coward that night, for not going over to her, and asking her to dance.

And how I beat myself up about it for two years, about how I didn't have enough courage to ask her to dance.

And so I find myself on this cloud, and before I know it, I'm on the ground, and the four years of my life working for this moment.

This is young love isn't it? This is what you see on TV and in movies, where that one character met the other, and the rest of the series consisted of hand holding and stolen kisses.

"Chester Coagionateseon"

This list continues as I find myself back at my seat.

"James Cook"

I stand up, yelling and clapping, and Paddy is on Rob's shoulders like it's a sporting event, but I guess everything is a sporting event to Rob.

And he strides up, grabbing the diploma, reaching to shake the principal's hand, before pulling it back, laughing, and then giving the principal an over enthusiastic hand shake.

He strikes one last pose before leaping off the stage.

And the names get called. I recognize some of them. Others I don't.

And then we get to the Fs.

And there's that small voice within me that asks whether Emily's name will be called.

And I know it won't. I know that.

But I have this hope, that somehow, for some reason, her name will be called.

"Katie Fitch"

We applaud and the noise is intense, but selfishly, there's something lacking from me.

And I wish there wasn't, but there is and I can't control that.

And I can't help but notice how something lacks from the whole applause.

Because while it's loud and cheerful, there's something restrained about it, something that oozes questions about Emily.

It's like everyone is thinking about the other Fitch sister.

And it's not really fair. And Katie realizes it, that the clapping isn't as wild as one might think it would be.

But I guess that's part of having a twin. Or maybe part of having with cancer.

And so she marches on anyways, and grabs her diploma, and all that jazz, all the while knowing that this moment is being shared with her sister.

And maybe that's also a part of being a twin.

I wouldn't know.

And so names get called, and finally we get down to the Z's, and I feel bad for them too because by then, everyone just wants this ceremony to end.

And then the principal makes some speech, and maybe I should have paid more attention to it, but I figure I won't hear anything life changing, nothing that I didn't already know:

Don't do drugs.

Succeed.

Be Responsible.

Be Yourself.

And so I just stare at Emily, at everything she is, and how lucky I am to have a girl like this in my life.

And finally, I throw my cap in the air.

And it's over.

It's all over.

No longer a teen, but now I'm supposed to go out and make my own life, my own path.

And so one day I can grow up and have a family, and one day I'll send my kids off to college, and the cycle will continue like the cycle has.

I walk over to my family, and mum hugs me, and there's something so incredibly sad about the way it feels, something so final, but all at once something so new and full of potential about it.

And I wonder a bit about all the different ways my life could have come to this point.

Maybe I would have come to this point with Emily sitting in the crowd of students, healthy and without any worry of cancer.

And maybe I could have come to this point with an even larger group of people who I really truly care about.

And maybe I could have come to this point with a father, my father, sitting next to my mum.

But I came to this point like this, and some would say that's all that matters, that I came to the point at which I'm at.

But really, I think that what matters is the way I came to this point, and I wouldn't trade that for anything.

Well, I could have done without Emily having cancer, but I guess that's just a piece of it all, a piece of the story of us.

And so I look around at all the people around me, family in all shapes and sizes.

I lean down to hug Emily, who holds me tightly, like the moment she lets go our souls will cease to exist.

And she's mine.

And I'm hers.

And why think about the past parts of my life when I have the future right here.

"Have I ever told you I love you?" I ask, somewhat joking, but somewhat seriously, because I need to make sure she knows.

"I think you might have once or twice," she says in a teasing tone.

"Well, then let me tell you once more: I love you Emily Fitch. With all my being, with all my heart. I love you."

"I've known that since we were nine, space cadet."

I kiss her again, because I can.

And with that she looks into my eyes and gives me a look that I hope every good person gets to experience in their lifetime: One of true love, without any ifs or buts, just love.

And it's so amazing, and she does it without trying, and once again, I feel like every hardship, every time I felt pain has been worth it.

Every time I got beat up.

Every time I felt a pang in my heart with the knowledge of my great aunt, Tina's declining health.

Every time I longed for a father in my life.

Every time my mother was too busy crying over him to really be present (not that I blame her).

All of that has been worth it for this moment, because she is here, and she is mine.

And even the biggest idiot in the world could realize how lucky I am.

She squeezes my hand gently, in the way that is so completely Emily.

"I love you too Naomi Campbell."

And really, what more could I ask for in life?

 **Shitty work.**

 **The epilogue will be up on Sunday.**

 **I read all the reviews I get at least 5 times. The site has been a bit weird lately with showing the reviews, but I've been able to read them through my email, so don't think that I'm not appreciating them and that I'm ignoring them.**

 **Please let me know what you thought if you want. It would make me smile like a loon.**


	33. Chapter 33

The Story of a Dying Girl

 **When I started this story, I had simply written it with no real idea of where it would go. I had written some chapters, but I never thought it was good enough. But finally, I decided maybe someone out there will get a kick out of it.**

 **And there was support and kind words and I feel so incredibly grateful for everyone who has supported me. While I'm still not completely sure of my skills, I feel like I have grown, both as a writer and in my confidence in my writing.**

 **While I still doubt myself, I feel better about it, and I have you guys to thank for that.**

 **Words can't explain how thankful for that I am.**

 **I am writing a new story. The first chapter will be up soon.**

 **Here we go. It's still not amazing, but here it is.**

 **Chapter 33 (Epilogue):**

The years flew by the way they seemingly do in everyone's life.

Sometimes it went by too fast, I couldn't even count to three before some months passed. Those times were filled with something so incredibly wonderful. But there was always something so upsetting about that passing of time, as it seemed to escape much too quickly.

Sometimes they went by too slow. It seemed like years for a day to pass, and there were days I just wanted to lie in bed the whole day, and hide from everything and everyone around me. Those were the times that I look back at in misery, when I feel some kind of weird pity for myself, the way that everyone occasionally does.

But throughout all those days, I had Emily.

And so really, nothing could be _too_ bad.

She was there when I graduated from college, and I felt to proud I could die.

She was there when I would get sick, and drown myself in tissues and sorrow.

She was there when I got a shitty, soul-sucking job.

She was there when I quit that job.

She was there when I got my dream job as a journalist.

She was there for the bad days and the good days, and those days that nothing happened other than the passing of time and the slow countdown to the end of our lives, which, we had no clue whether there would be years left, or hours left, or just a minute.

And that was the way we lived our lives. No knowledge of when the end would be, just like everyone else, but that part didn't matter because I had her by my side, and I would rather live three months filled with Emily than 20 years without her.

I was 24 when I proposed. And that may be young, but I was already destined to be with her for the entirety of my life, so why not make it official?

I still can picture her face, lighting up so brilliantly and beautifully, as we stood on the rooftop of a building, watching a sunrise so wonderful.

Obviously, she said yes.

That would have been incredibly awkward for all parties involved had she rejected me.

So… whew.

The wedding was in my mum's backyard. It was small and nothing flashy or extreme, but it seemed to fit us perfectly. There was a beauty to it, one that resembled Emily.

Cook was my… best maid? Man maid? Man of honor?

Cook was my man of honor.

Katie was Emily's maid of honor… duh.

Paddy was the ring bearer, despite being a tad bit old for the role. Well, maybe a bit more than a tad bit.

Paddy had grown into a man, looking so incredibly similar to his brother. After I had gone to college, Paddy had moved in with my mum. And they cared for each other in a way that was so unique and special that it would be enough to even move that damn bus driver's heart.

I had gone to a college close by to Cook's, and ended up rooming with him in a shitty little apartment until college finished, and I moved in with Emily, who had also gone somewhere close by.

And Cook? Well Cook was as whipped as ever, and found himself moving in the other Fitch sister.

And I know that you may be reading this, saying to yourself that this is some fairytale bullshit, with all of us remaining close and everything so cheery, but I can assure you, this was not always the case.

Cook and Katie broke up for about a year when we were 22.

Fighting led to fractures in their relationship, and eventually those fractures became too big of cracks and then one day the fighting was gone and they had no will to go on.

So they ended it.

It was mutual, and there was something so calm and settled to it, but all at once so open and wounded that it would be enough to drive any relationship expert mad.

So for a year Cook tried to find someone else, some girl like Katie. And so he tried a few shags, with me going out to clubs with him, standing around, staring at my phone, texting Emily, wishing we could all just be on a double date rather than this mess.

But quickly it became clear: Katie had ruined him.

No longer could he have a quick shag and be content.

So he tried dating.

But she had ruined him in that department too.

The truth was that he couldn't have anyone who wasn't _her._

Who wasn't Katie.

And the same could be said for Katie.

And so they reunited, and the fractures became solid, and they fought, but there was passion and love to it.

And Emily and me?

Well, we fought and we disagreed. We got mad and we yelled sometimes.

But neither of us has doubted for a second our love.

And so after we got married, Cook and Katie followed.

And before we knew it, we were really adults, with jobs and marriages and lives like all the adults you see on TV and in movies.

And before we knew it we were 26, approaching 27.

And before I knew it, Emily was pregnant.

It wasn't easy, I'll tell you that much, but I guess nothing worth it in life is easy, really.

But with Emily's health problems, it made the already difficult journey even harder.

But one of the things I love most about Emily is the way that when she settles her heart on something, it's settled, and it no longer becomes a question of will it happen, but a question of when will it happen, because believe me, _it will happen._

And so finally, it was my 27th birthday when I was given the best gift of all time:

A little plastic stick with a plus sign staring back at me.

I looked right at her, tears forming in my eyes, watching as she simply nodded, tears streaming down her own face, while biting her lip softly.

Morning sickness and questions such as: "How fat do I look? Like a fucking whale, huh?!"

But all of that was worth it because nine months later, little Brie popped out, 7 pounds, 6 ounces, ten perfect fingers, ten perfect toes, and blue eyes that looked exactly like my own.

And three months later, Christine was born. She had eyes just like Cook, and Katie's exact smile.

And out girls soon became friends, sleeping in the same crib, playing with the same toys, causing trouble together, just like Cook and I, or Katie and Emily.

And mum went wild. She had married my old teacher, an overweight Irish man names Kieran who had an affinity to potatoes and my mother.

But mum instantly spoiled Brie, giving her all the gifts that hippy grandmas give, and constantly stealing my little monster from me to spend the day together.

But the happiness I felt when she was born is like none other. A symbol of Emily and my love sealed forever in the most perfect creature to have ever walked the Earth, along with her mother.

And my life settled into a kind of stability I longed for as a child, and worshipped as an adult.

Work and a beautiful wife who only seemed to grow more beautiful with age. A daughter who I would break every single bone in my body for just to prevent her from getting a broken pinky. Cook and Katie, and a goddaughter who was Brie's partner in crime in almost all her actions.

When I was 29, Emily gave birth to Pete. Eyes exactly like his mum, so wonderful and warm, and a nose that someone practically copied and pasted from me. His mum practically squeezed the life out of me with the death grip she had on my hand.

And 2 months before that, AJ was born. Katie had practically cursed Cook out in the delivery room. I believe she said something about, "You bollockless little shit bag! I fucking blame you for all of this pain!"

And just like our daughter, Pete and AJ were best friends, poopy diapers and all.

And I was teaching my children how to ride bikes, and how to throw baseballs, and I was so happy in my life, that I could think of no one who could possibly be happy.

You may be wondering about Emily's cancer, and yes we had a couple of scares here and there, but she was healthy, and so that was just another thing to add to the list of reasons why I'm the luckiest person on this Earth.

And so now I'm 33, and Pete is four years old and Brie is six.

And we're on a camping trip.

"Pirate Petey…." That was my nickname for my son, who had gained a peculiar fondness for pirates.

"Mummy?"

"Come on."

He sat up and made his way out if the tent.

"Don't wake your mum."

"Mouse… wake up honey." Mouse was my nickname for my daughter.

Brie opened one sleepy eye.

"Mummy?"

"Yeah, come on, I wanna show you guys something. But let mumma sleep."

And so we hiked up a familiar pathway, the sound of leaves and rocks under our feet.

"Mummy, I tired," Pete said in a sleepy little voice.

I reached down and put him on my shoulders.

"Me too mummy. Me too!"

And so with a laugh, I picked up my daughter, one hand holding her, the other making sure Pete didn't fall off my shoulders

"It's so dark mummy, what are we waiting for?"

"Hold on sweetheart, it's almost here."

And we waited in silence for a few moments before I heard a cough behind me.

"Thought you'd leave me behind?" The same husky voice I had fallen in love with years ago asked.

I turned around.

"Thought you may want your beauty sleep, not that you would ever need it."

She kissed me.

"Gross!" Pete made a face.

I gently passed Brie off to Emily.

We all turned back to the sky.

And then the colors began to come, and they faded in together and formed something beautiful:

A sunrise.

With one arm around my wife, and our two kids watching like they had never seen something so amazing, I thought about my dad, and how all these years had passed, and we were almost nothing alike.

And I was proud of that. I was proud that I could say that I wasn't my father, and would never be.

Emily had wrapped Brie up in a jacket. The army jacket.

And looking at all of them, Pete in my arms now, I felt so much love in my heart that I figured that it couldn't possibly be healthy medical wise.

"Pete Campbell, Brie Campbell, and Emily Campbell."

They turned to me.

"You guys are all my sunrises."

 **It has been a hell of a journey!**

 **Thanks again for everything.**

 **My newest story will have its first chapter out soon!**

 **Please let me know what you thought!**

 **Alrighty then.**


End file.
